Love Wins Every Time
by masked-spangler
Summary: It is a difficult time for all of them at Seattle Grace. How much can things really change just because Burke has made a friend? Thanks so much to everyone for the great feedback! Story is now complete!
1. Chapter 1

Love Wins Every Time

(Timeline note: We are just at the end of the episode 'Desire.' He catches her just after her rejection by Alex, before she makes it to LA, and we spin into AU from that point onward)

_Sun is gonna rise, so don't worry about tomorrow  
Everybody hurts sometimes  
If you let love in your heart, then the world will surely follow  
Baby, love wins every time  
---McMaster and James_

He comes out of the hospital, and she's sitting there, hugging a dark, long coat around herself, shivering a little. This morning's gentle rain-soaked breeze has thickened to a dry, sharp wind that whips her long, red hair around her eyes. She ignores it and sits there, frigid, small, eyes staring straight ahead of her. He joins her on the bench. He says nothing, but watches her for a moment.

She fidgets over a tiny bit in acknowledgement if his presence. He is worried, the way anyone would be, he supposes, were they to find in such obviously dire straits a person who, if not a friend per se, is at minimum a colleague and someone for whom he harbours genial affection. But he is a patient man, and he senses he shouldn't push her.

"Hey, Preston," she says after a moment.

"Hey, Addison," he answers. He keeps his voice neutral. Friendly. He keeps his body relaxed, but he scoots a tiny bit closer to her.

"So," he says.

He stares back at him with guileless eyes, but he senses the promise of tears.

"Is there any particular reason you're sitting out here right now?"

She shrugs, hugging the coat a little tighter. "Because if I leave right now, I think I would be leaving to do something I'll be sorry for later?"

He nods. "And what might that be?"

She doesn't hold back the bitter chuckle. "Self-medication with sex. Self-medication with alcohol. Maybe both. Take your pick."

He takes this in with impassive neutrality. "Fair enough. I concede that there might be better options."

She laughs again. "And if that doesn't win the prize for understatement of the century. Well?"

"Well what?"

"You have any better ideas?"

He regards her seriously, giving the question some thought. "Go home, Addison. Sleep it off."

"But that's part of the problem, Preston. I haven't got a home."

"No?"

She shrugs, going quiet on him. He still isn't completely sure what's wrong. But obviously, he can't just leave her here.

"Well, come back with me, then," he says. "I'll make you dinner."

"But…"

He opens his briefcase, pulls out a bottle of wine. A nice bottle. A very nice one.

"I picked this up in my travels," he says. "You don't really want me drinking it alone?"

"But…"

"But Cristina?" He anticipates her objection, waves it off with a casual flit of his hand. "Just scrubbed in on Bailey's bowel resection. She'll be hours yet."

"And the…you just happen to…"

"What? This?" He holds aloft the bottle. "It's Thursday. I play chess with the chief every Thursday during my lunch hour. Or, I should say, I _win_ at chess with the chief every Thursday."

"You play chess with the chief for wine?"

"Well, what else would I play for? This is a cabernet. Dry, sweet. It ages well, you know."

"Right. Of course it does."

Finally, he turns on a little sparkle. He pushes. "Well?"

She shrugs. "It beats tequila shots at Joe's and M&M's from the mini-bar."

She lets him give her a hand up, and he tries to ignore the sudden flash of heat in his bones. He has always found chivalry unbelievably arousing.

--

She follows him in her own car, and it does not occur to him to suppose that she is using the solitude to wallow, or to steel herself in preparation for his company. He is a supremely practical man, and he would take his own car too. Of course, he would take his own car.

She gasps a little when she sees his apartment, and he can't help but smirk. "You like it?"

She pirouettes, somehow a little punchy, even though he has yet to open the wine. "Well, it's…what can I say? Elegant?"

"Thank you, I think."

"I mean, it's…clean, you know? I expected that from you. But it's got personality too."

"That surprises you?"

"Of course it doesn't surprise me."

But the question, or her answer, has somehow made her skittish again. She tries again, falling easily into a polite, innocuous script.

"So, can I help?" she says.

"Hmmm?"

"The dinner. Can I help?"

"Oh. Right. I was going to sauté some chicken. Perhaps in a bit of the wine."

She looks alarmed at the prospect of boiling off his fancy wine in a potful of food scraps. He chuckles, enjoying the novelty of having visitors. It is Cristina who has the friends. It is not his kind who come over.

"All right," he says, putting her out of her misery. He gingerly uncorks the wine, pours her a modest glassful. "Drink the wine. I suppose, for the chicken, a dash of olive oil will do quite nicely. Shall I slice some tomatoes?"

"Why don't I do that?" she says, falling into step behind him. "Unless you're one of those people who are freakishly territorial about their kitchen stuff? Derek has a sister who's…"

She trails off again, so easily spooked back to discomfort that it pains him. "You can slice," he tells her firmly. "As long as you don't mangle my beautiful tomatoes. Straight slices, Addison. Thin ones."

"I am a surgeon too, you know. I know how to slice things."

He grins. "I'll just bet you do."

--

They get the chicken simmering. He stews the tomato with parsley and basil, simmering in some wild rice for a neat, rich risotto.

"This isn't from a package," she says, pulling a few grains between her fingers, squinting. "Preston, this looks fresh."

He nods. "I know a farmer's market…"

"With your schedule? When do you shop?"

He wraps her outfit in an appraising glance, taking in the tailored cut, the designer shoes, the understated, but exquisite accessories. "When do you?"

She sips her wine with the first genuine laugh of the evening. "Touché, Preston. One point for you."

One point for him indeed. He compliments himself for finally pushing her into relaxing. God knows, she looks like she needs to.

--


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

--

The dinner is exquisite, as it should be. She is careful not to talk about anything significant. He is just as careful not to expect her to. She seems to be relaxing. If she wants to share with him just what it was that had her so out of sorts, she would share it. But it is not his place to pry. His one concession to monitoring her mental state is trying to space the wine out enough so that she doesn't get drunk enough to embarrass herself, but as the meal wears on, he nonetheless starts to feel nervous about letting her drive home.

"We have a guest room, you know," he says, as they push the last of the food around on their plates.

She looks up at him, her mind clearly elsewhere. "Hmmm?"

"It's late. You've had wine. You shouldn't be driving."

She frowns. "But you…"

"I've had wine too."

The frown deepens. "I should probably…I mean, a cab, or…"

"Why should you? Your car is here. You'll stay over, then drive it in to work with you tomorrow."

She seems inexplicably terrified by this suggestion.

"Addison. We're friends, right?"

Her brow crinkles. "I suppose…"

"Well, then. I have a spare room, and you have a spare set of clothes in your car."

"What? How did you…"

"I'm a surgeon too, I know how this works. You keep a change of clothes in your car."

"Yeah. I keep a change of clothes in my car."

"So?"

"So? Honestly, Preston? I'm a little terrified of Cristina."

He laughs, a genuine, unguarded laugh he doesn't manage very often. "Seriously?"

And she tenses again. "Don't say that word."

"Addison…"

"Okay, so she's like four feet fall, and she has a lot more to learn than she thinks she does, and in surgeries? Maybe I could wipe the floor with her. No offense."

"None taken."

"But this is her home turf here."

"It's MY home turf."

She ignores the implication in his vehemence. "It's her home turf, and I'm not exactly sure she would welcome having me here."

"Oh, for goodness sake. I'm not asking you to move in, Addison."

"I know…"

"Well, answer me one question," he says. "The lateness of the hour notwithstanding. The quantity of wine notwithstanding. Do you really think you should be alone right now?"

She looks away from him, flinches noticeably. For a moment, they both stop breathing.

"I'm not asking you to tell me," he says softly, beginning to stack the plates. "I haven't asked you to tell me."

She nods slowly, seeming to come out of her trance a little.

"But you can trust me, if you need to," he finishes, giving her hand a very gentle squeeze. It almost sends her off the deep end. She scrunches shut her eyes and, shuddering with effort, wills the tears to oblivion and coaxes her breathing back to normal rhythm.

"My life sucks," she says plainly.

He neither nods nor answers.

"I'm just really…really feeling it today. I didn't mean to inflict this on you."

"Desert?"

"God, I'm pathetic. I'm not usually like this, you know."

"I have a pie in the freezer," he says.

She is still a little sniffly. "You what?"

"I was raised by an old-fashioned Southern woman. You always keep a pie in the freezer. For emergencies."

Her eyes twinkle again. "Really? Pie emergencies?"

"For example, if you have a houseguest. And…and they need a little desert. What would you do if you didn't have a pie in the freezer?"

She is loving this scenario. "Is the pie from the farmer's market too?"

"Well, the blueberries are. But I've found, as far as pies go, that one really needs to put in a certain amount of work oneself if one wants results that are in any way acceptable."

Her face goes through a series of amusing contortions as she struggles with the mental picture of him, on a rare day off, picking through grains of wild rice at a farmer's market or baking blueberry pies for future desert emergencies.

"You know," she says after a moment. "We new-fashioned city women also have a plan for times like these. It's called cookie dough ice cream, and it's a lot less work than pie."

"Today, we eat the pie," he decrees with finality. "And another day? You can treat me."

"Deal. But when Cristina gets home, I'm hiding in the guest room, and I'm not coming out until she's gone in the morning."

He briefly thinks about trying to enlighten her as to how silly she's being. But he concludes that this is veering into the territory of being one of those girl things. And girl things, as every good old-fashioned Southern boy knows, are best left to the girls.

--

While he warms up her pie, she goes out to the car to get her gym bag and change of clothes. They have only just finished eating when he hears the telltale turn of Cristina's key in the lock. True to her word, Addison springs to her feet at once and moves to gather up her things. She is not quite fast enough.

Cristina stumbles over Addison's gym bag, stops cold and stares at them as Addison wraps her fingers around the desert spoon. He notices the tension, but chooses to ignore it, giving Addison a soothing look and Cristina a beaming smile.

"Cristina. We have a guest."

She nods slowly, taking a guarded step toward the table, gingerly lowering herself into a chair. "Um, yeah. I see that. Why, exactly?"

"You have your friends over," he says. "And I have mine." He turns up the smile a watt. He's tempted to leave them alone for a minute, to let Cristina get the territorial posturing out of her system, but Addison still looks terrified.

"We've had some wine," he continues.

"Right. Um, I can get you a cab if you want," Cristina says. "I mean, I have the number."

"No need," he interrupts. "We have a guest room."

She doesn't hide her surprise. "Seriously?"

Addison flinches noticeably. Even Cristina catches it, and it makes her more uncomfortable than the possibility of a fight with Burke over Addison being here. She hops to her feet. "Um, great. So, I'm just gonna go get some pie…"

He turns on that smile again, and when Cristina is out of earshot, he graces Addison with it. "See? I told you it was fine."

Addison exhales slowly, clearly full of tension from more than just that. "Yeah. Is she…I mean, is it really…"

"Well, if you're asking me to promise you she won't be gossiping about this tomorrow with George and Meredith, I can't make any guarantees."

"But…"

"But I know how to handle Cristina. And this is not something over which I care to argue with her. You need a friend, Addison."

"Hey! I never said I needed anything from…"

"And just between you and me?" he interrupts. "I think I need one too. Now. Shall I see about towels?"

--


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 

--

By the time Addison is settled in the guest room, Cristina has finished the pie and is picking up her coat off the chair where she's left it.

"Going somewhere?" he asks her.

She stops, puts down the coat again. Then she sighs and picks it right back up. "Yeah. Um, Meredith has this thing, and…"

"And you feel uncomfortable spending the night with Addison?"

"Honestly? Yeah. Don't worry, I'm not arguing, I get that this is some sort of…some sort of issue for you. But you just…what, you just brought her home?"

"Something like that."

"Yeah. Look, I am giving you tonight, Preston. Okay? I'm giving you tonight. Do your damsel rescuing, work out whatever it is that's making you all smooth and creepy. I'm giving you tonight."

"And then?"

"What do you mean, and then? We go back to normal. No more houseguests. No more weird smiley pie. You understand me?"

"Why, no, Cristina. I don't think I do."

Her face hardens, and her eyes narrow. "Excuse me?"

"Life moves, Cristina. It progresses. It evolves. I know change frightens you. But it's part of life. One day, you're a med student, the next day, you're an intern. One day, you are a single woman, the next day you're my girlfriend."

"And one day, you're Preston Burke, and the next day?"

"The next day I am still Preston Burke, except that I have made a new friend."

"But…"

"But? I haven't got a lot of friends, Cristina."

"And she's your friend?"

"You know, I think she is. You don't have to hide at Meredith's."

"I know I don't have to."

She puts the coat on anyway. He lets her go.

--

He cleans up the dinner dishes, enjoying the manual work, the water, the soap, the clink of silver on china. He will have to make another pie sometime, and he wonders if Addison might like coming with him to the market to help him pick out the fruit. She is going through a difficult time, it's obvious even to him. And it is during precisely those sorts of times that it's all the more important to take proper care of oneself. A basket of organic strawberries would do wonders, he's sure.

He puts away the dishes, inhales the silence and the solitude. He thinks to check on her before he retires to bed himself. He finds her curled up in the blankets, cheek streaked with half-dried tears, breath still hitching tearfully a little even in sleep. He reaches out for her. This still feels a little like a girl thing. But he is a doctor, and he can do bedside manner when he pleases.

"Addison."

She stirs, moans a little. He squeezes her hand. "Hey…"

She jolts fully awake, looks skittishly around her, then remembers. "Oh. Hey."

"Drink this," he says, pressing a bottle of water into her hands.

She pushes herself onto her elbows. "Oh, please. I didn't have that much wine."

"No," he says. "You didn't. Drink it."

She drinks.

"Now," he says. "We could talk about this. Or, you could sleep."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Well then?"

She sighs. "But I can't sleep either. God, Preston. This is embarrassing."

"What?"

"Falling apart like this. I'm not a…well, maybe I am. But I…" She turns on her side, then onto her back again. "You know, it probably makes it a little easier, that it's dark. That you can't really see me right now."

He makes a vague responsive noise.

"And it helps that Cristina isn't here."

"Oh ho. You heard that, did you?"

"It made me a feel a little better, actually. She's mad at you."

"A little, maybe."

"So you don't have it perfect either. That shouldn't make me feel better, but it does."

"She'll get over it."

"Yeah. Can't you just picture them, though? Her and Meredith?" Her voice goes up a pitch, in imitation. "So, I walk into my apartment, and who do I see? McSatan. Having McPie with my McBoyfriend!"

He lets himself laugh too. "She'll get over it," he says again.

"I did something really stupid, Preston. I did a lot of stupid things, actually. But today? I did another thing. A stupid thing. I think I really made a mess of it."

And it comes out: Derek, and how that made her feel. Mark, and how that made her feel. Alex, and how that made her feel…

He wants to be gentle. It's not her fault that nobody ever taught her a better coping skill. It seems important somehow that she understand that he does not see her as a failure as a person. That she is not a failure as a person.

"Is that not the most pathetic story you've ever heard?" she says. She flips on her side again, so that he can't read her face. He grabs her forcibly by the shoulder and turns her back again. "Addison. Look at me."

She looks. Vulnerable, desperate, she looks. And he can't explain to her why she is bringing out these protective urges in him. He is not a man given to grand dramatic speeches, but he has to say something. He has to say something so that she'll understand.

"Listen," he tells her. "You are not pathetic. You are human. We all make mistakes. We all make connections."

She's crying again, but she nods slowly, trying to focus on his warm, forgiving smile.

"You'll get there," he tells her. "It's a little hard right now."

She nods a little too enthusiastically. Yes, it is hard.

"Well, you have a friend at least. I'm not perfect either. But as a friend, I can promise you this much: my home will always be a safe place for you."

Maybe that was the word she needed to hear. Safe. She relaxes again, and he knows she can sleep now. He goes off to get some sleep himself.

--  



	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 

--

He wakes, up and she's gone. The bed is made, the room is spotless, and there is a note on the kitchen counter that says simply 'Thank You.' He is a bit baffled that she's left already, but then Cristina comes home, and he sees that she must have anticipated this.

"Good morning," Cristina says. He has already showered, but he hasn't yet dressed. He moves around the kitchen in his robe, making coffee.

"Good morning," he answers back. He puts on the smile again, and it makes her scowl.

"She still here?"

"No, actually."

She nods, tries to sit down. But she is on her feet again, fidgeting. "So are we…are we okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just…look, obviously, she was filling a need or something. So…"

"Cristina. You are over-thinking this."

"Meredith says she had to be filling a need."

"Oh?" His mouth quirks in amusement. "Meredith says?"

"Look, I'm not saying…okay, fine, you need friends. But…her?"

"Why not?"

"You know why not. You know what they say about her."

"Oh? What do they say?"

She fidgets again, plainly annoyed that he is making her spell it out for him. "They say that she's a bit of a man-eater," Cristina finally says. "First Shepherd, then Sloan, then Shepherd again, then Sloan…again…"

This strikes him as a needlessly cruel and simplistic interpretation of events as he understands them. He wants to end this now. "Look, Cristina. We are fine. There is nothing for you to be worried about."

"But…"

"She had a bad day. And she needed someone to reach out to her."

"And you just…decided…that it should be you."

"Has she got anyone else?"

She sighs. "This is weird. Even you have to know, this is weird."

"Oh, is it? And what would you have had me do, Cristina? Just leave her?"

He has to remind himself that Cristina wasn't there. That she didn't see what he saw. He tames his impatience by reminding himself that Cristina wasn't there.

"She was not in a condition to be left," he says. "There are things about her which she hasn't…"

"Oh, please. Are you going to pull some sort of head doc psychobabble on me about this? The whole man-eater thing, it's what? Daddy issues? Post-traumatic stress? Low self-esteem? A need for validation?"

"Cristina…"

"So, what, did she cry? Please tell me she didn't actually cry?"

Cristina wasn't there. She didn't see. She didn't see…

"I think you have the wrong idea," he says softly. He is tired of arguing. He is angry that he has to. "You know, you should ask Bailey to assign you to her service today. Spend some time with her, see how it goes. You'd like her."

"I don't…I don't not like her now," she says with a sigh. "I just…"

"What?"

She is clearly exasperated. "Nothing. Whatever. Look, I'm gonna be late. We'll talk about this later?"

"No," he says, bringing out the firm, scary smile again. "We won't."

--

He gets himself ready a little faster than he usually does. He is not consciously aware that he's hurrying because he wants to check on her, but the conversation with Cristina has unsettled him a little. Maybe he is having a little need for validation himself.

It's still early when he gets to the hospital. He finds himself lining up for coffee beside the chief.

"Morning, Preston."

"Morning, sir."

"So? Beautiful day."

"Right. Of course." He pays for his coffee, falls into step beside the chief.

"Sir?"

Chief Webber stops, looks at him. "Everything all right, Preston?"

He follows him into his office, nudges shut the door. "Just…here's a question. Hypothetical."

"I'm listening."

"You were married, right?"

"Preston…"

"Just go with me on this. You had a wife at home."

"Yes."

"Say you brought home another woman one night. A colleague. A friend. For dinner, maybe. And pie."

"And why would I be doing that, exactly?"

"She's having a crisis. You see that she's hurting, and you don't want to leave her. So you bring her home with you."

"As a colleague and as a friend."

"Right. So…if you did that. How would your wife react?"

"She would probably put on her mother act for the unfortunate colleague and friend. If the crisis was bad enough that I could see it, she'd certainly see it too."

He takes that in. That hadn't occurred to him, somehow. He knows Cristina, knows she has her problems dealing with people sometimes. But even she would know real pain when she sees it. Wouldn't she? He would want her to notice real pain…

"Preston, this is probably none of my business. But Cristina…she didn't notice?"

"No. She didn't."

"And do I…do I want to know who the unfortunate colleague was?"

"No. I…it's not for me to tell you."

Chief Webber slowly nods, plainly putting the pieces together.

"Well whoever she is, Preston, will you pass along a message for me? Let her know that I hope she's okay. And that if she needs me, as a boss, as a friend…that I'm here for her?"

He nods himself, then takes his coffee and leaves. He has a sudden urge to go visit babies.

--

He has a surgery scheduled for 10 am. Triple bypass. It's standard work for him, and he busies himself checking on the patient. Now that he's here, at work, where she is, where both of them, Cristina and Addison are, he's having cold feet. He doesn't want to confront Cristina again. And perhaps she is right. Perhaps he is investing a little too much into this? He bailed Addison out. He fed her dinner and gave her a night of peace. That does not make him a hero. That does not necessarily even make him a friend. She has probably forgotten all about him already.

He has almost convinced himself that she has, that he has forgotten too. But when she bumps into him during rounds and it's clear she has been looking for him too, he becomes aware that a part of him was waiting for it.

"Preston!" She sounds cheerful. She sounds rested. She's dressed impeccably again, her hair pulled out of its messy curtain by neat, flat pins that smartly brush it out of her eyes. Her smile is genuine, and he is heart-stoppingly relieved to see it.

"Good morning, Addison."

"You got my note?"

"Yes."

"I just figured…I was sure Cristina would be back. And I just didn't want to hear it, you know? I just…maybe that makes me a bad friend. Does it make me a bad friend? I just didn't want to hear it."

"You are not a bad friend."

She holds out a Styrofoam cup. "Well, I brought you some juju. I saw you had a surgery up there already, and I thought…"

"That's very sweet of you."

"Yeah. See? I can be sweet. I am not just Weirdo-Depressing-Girl. I can be sweet."

"Addison…"

"I know, I know, I'm doing that whole Validate Me! thing again. Okay, I'll stop. Just…it was nice, you know? Talking a little? Feeling like someone would care if I did that?"

He takes her in, measuring the mood carefully. Well, all right. So she needs to hear it. Maybe he needs to hear it too, to say it, like they are eight years old again and navigating the trials of third grade together. "So…we're friends now," he says.

She grins. "Yeah. We're friends. Preston?"

"Hmmm?"

"Don't forget to drink the juju."

--


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 

--

He closes up his bypass. His touch is light and quick and smooth, and he sees that the nurses are making admiring noises as they follow his stitches. He is not so superstitious as to believe that the 'juju' Addison gave him has made him in any way a better surgeon today. But it certainly put him in a wonderful mood.

He supposes he ought to have lunch with Cristina, and he surprises himself with his relief when he learns she is otherwise occupied. He is scanning the cafeteria, looking for a seat, when Shepherd approaches him.

"Preston. Will you join me?"

He knows what this is about, and he feels his hackles go up. "Where is Meredith?"

"Same place Cristina is, helping Sloan with a skin graft. Come, sit."

He puts his tray down and sits.

"So, I hear you and Addison had a thing last night," Derek says.

"We had dinner," he admits.

"Just dinner?"

"Just dinner."

Derek has the same look Cristina had on before, but he is smart enough to consider it for a moment and change his mind. "Well, okay. That's good. She could use a friend."

"Yeah. Is this going to be awkward, Shepherd? I mean, Addison, you and me?"

"You know, I thought it was. When I came over and asked you to sit with me, I thought I was doing this whole big brother thing, warning you off. But you know what? She should have a friend. She should have a life. I'm not going to stop her."

"How gracious."

"Look, she and I, it's complicated. We've both done…done regrettable things. And it doesn't make us good or bad or right or wrong or even. And it doesn't make us over, either. She's part of my life, Preston. She'll always be part of my life."

"She's hurting. Some of that is you."

"Yeah. But some of it is her, too. She brings it on herself, you know. A part of her just keeps bringing it on, and that was one of our…you know, I used to see her doing it? I would know it was coming, and I just couldn't stand to watch. So I would pull away, and it would only make her push harder…"

"You're part of it," he says again.

"You know it's not that simple."

He sighs. "No. No, it isn't simple."

"I'm sorry it's been so hard for her," Derek says. "And if I thought there was anything I could do to make it stop being so hard, I'd do it. But that? That's the whole reason, right there, why it didn't work for us. There was nothing I could do, nothing I could ever do to make it stop being so hard."

It was funny, in a way. He understood what Derek was saying, and it made sense to him, and he found himself nodding. But…he hadn't found Addison all that hard. A little sad, maybe. A little sensitive, but with a layer of grit underneath it, and a refreshing sense of humour when she wasn't hurting. Cristina, she was hard. She was damn near impossible sometimes. But Addison? He could handle her just fine.

--

She comes up behind him when he's finishing charts in the post-op lounge. She's still glowing.

"Hey."

He looks up, returns her smile. "Hey."

"So," she says. "Are you getting it too?"

"Getting what?"

"Oh, you know what. The stares. The snickers. I thought Cristina was finally starting to warm up to me when I saw her conferring with Nurse Olivia. Since that? She hasn't stopped glaring."

He senses an opening here, a chance to set her on a different track. "And does that bother you?" he asks her.

"Well, yeah," she says, sounding surprised by the question. "Doesn't it bother you?"

"No. People always talk."

"I know. I just wish they would stop talking about me for awhile."

"Why?"

"Honestly? Because when they do, it's like…like I'm still That Woman, you know? I just wonder sometimes, how long I'm going to keep being punished for my sins."

"But that's exactly it, Addison. You'll keep being punished as long as you keep believing that you have sins you still need to pay for."

She looks stung. "But…"

"I'm not judging," he hastily assures her. "And you know what? They're not really judging either."

She lets her head fall into her hands. "I'm just so…tired…of drama…"

"Make it stop then, Addison. Make it stop, and start with Cristina. I want you two to be friends."

"Friends would be nice," she admits.

"Just remember that it goes both ways. You can talk smack to Nurse Olivia too…"

Her eyes light up again. "You evil genius."

"Make me proud," he says. "When the story gets back to me? I'm expecting tears, and I'm expecting them not to have come from you."

He fumbles in his bag, pulls out a bottle of water, slides it across the table to her. "There you go," he says. "Juju."

--


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 

--

The rest of his day is a blur of post-ops, patients, and bounces from the pit. He's restless, and he doesn't know why. Certainly, this is not the only day he's been visited by one of Cristina's moods, and he tells himself they don't bother him now. He remembers his father telling him about women, about how they were diamonds, and sometimes, you found them just sitting there, shining in the sun, but sometimes you had to slog in the mine through the cold, dark winter to unearth them. And those diamonds were just as beautiful, were they not? Did they not shine just as brightly?

He wraps up his last patient check and nearly runs into Cristina on his way to the locker room.

"Oh, good," she says.

He moves to kiss her, and she squirms away. "Yeah. Um, I'm having a thing tonight."

He frowns. "A thing."

"Did you forget what tomorrow is?"

He thinks for a moment. "Thursday?"

She smacks his hand. "I told you already! It's Study Season! Two weeks to the intern exam."

"Oh! Right!"

"We're launching it at midnight, in high style. Izzie's baking."

"Ah."

"So…bye! See ya!"

She pecks him on the cheek and skitters away, and he is briefly irritated. But then he remembers that now he has a friend…

Mark Sloan comes in, gives him nod. He smiles back, and prepares his things.

"So, meeting," Sloan says.

He looks up from his locker. "Hmm?"

"I'm supposed to tell you. Meeting. All attendings."

"Now?"

"Yup. Something about interns, I think."

The exam. He supposes the chief is going to remind them about the exam.

"And speaking of interns," Sloan continues. "Heard yours was in a catfight today, and got scratched."

Juju, coming home to roost. "Oh?"

"She mouthed off at Addison. And darn it all if Addison didn't fight back…"

He picks up his briefcase and gym bag. "Well. Shall we?"

--

He gets the rest of the story from Addison herself, on the chairs outside the chief's office. She is regaling a bored Derek with the tale when he and Sloan arrive.

"And she just gives me this look, like 'fine, whatever,' and I said 'Excuse me, Dr. Yang. Something you wanted to share with the rest of us?' And she rolls her eyes…again! And I pulled her aside…actually pulled her, put my hand on her arm and pulled, and I said 'Look, I don't know what your problem is, exactly, or how on earth a tiny person like you managed to get such a very large stick up her you know what, but this surgery is four and a half hours long, Dr. Yang, four and a half hours long on a good day, and if you think I'm going to spend them holed up in a tiny O.R. with a baby's heart in my hands and your sparkling personality and scowling, sulking self for company, you have another thing coming."

Sloan stifles a chuckle and holds him back to prevent his interrupting.

"So she stammers a little, and looks around at all the nurses, and then she says 'But Dr. Montgomery, I'm already on the board.' And I just looked at her…the same way she looked at me…and I said 'Dr. Yang. I am going to explain this to you very clearly, in plain, simple language so that I can be sure you understand me. This is my surgery. This is my O.R. This is my hospital. And if you don't start checking that attitude at the door and behaving like a god-dammed professional, I will shut you out of it all so fast that the intern exam will be the least of your problems. Do you understand me?"

Sloan gives him a kick, and he stumbles out of hiding. "Preston!" she all but squeals. "I was just telling Derek…"

"So I hear," he says.

The grin is on the impish side. "Yeah. By stunning coincidence, the nurses were in the middle of a shift change…"

The door opens and the chief pops out his head. "Guys? This'll be a short one…"

They file into his office, and he tells them about the intern exam. "Two weeks tomorrow, so the countdown is on. Our hospital has a history of turning out some of the best test scores in the state. I would like to see that record hold. For the next two weeks, the interns will be studying for their lives. I expect you all to do whatever you can to help them. Any questions? No? Okay, people. Dismissed."

They walk together, the four of them, and Addison notices his gym bag. "You going somewhere?" she asks him.

"I was," he tells her. "But I've just learned that Cristina has made other plans for the evening."

"Oh?"

He notices the gleam in her eye. "What? You have an idea?"

"I have a brilliant idea. Bring the gym bag with you."

He follows her in his car, back to the Archfield. But when they reach the elevators, she veers off and leads him through a set of smoked glass doors into what's obviously the spa.

"It's one of the perks of living here," she tells him. "One of the only perks, actually. Isn't it fabulous?"

Indeed, it is: all chrome and class and elegance, with a gilt-laced check-in desk and a mound of puffy towels in a deep, wicker basket on the floor. She pulls two out, tosses one his way. "Well? You up for a little workout?"

He smiles. "Name your poison."

"We row. We box. We swim."

She is already peeling off layers, and as she gets down to her camisole, he sees her arms pop. Damn right she rows.

"All right," he says. "But I should warn you. I'm good."

He walks off before she can answer, and hurries into the locker rooms. He meets her on the gym floor, and she is still wearing the same playful smirk he had left her with.

"How good?" she asks him.

He is already into his warm-up stretches. He breaks off and looks up at her. "Hmm?"

"I said, how good?"

"Addison…"

"This is a swanky place, Preston, and swanky places have really neat toys. These things? They have head-to-head mode."

"Is that so?"

"It is. So I'm thinking…I win, and you come to the bar with Callie and me and pay for both our drinks."

"And if I win?"

She tosses back her hair, then catches it into a fist and ties it back with something. "Let's not worry about _that_ unless we need to."

--

He is tempted to let her win, but she is in full-on tough girl mode, and as they hit their second rematch, it's still a draw.

"Addison. Let's swim."

"Giving up, Preston? Already?"

"Your arms are wobbling, and you can afford your own drinks."

"But…"

"Addison."

"Fine, fine. If we're quitting anyway, I wouldn't say no to some food."

"I didn't say we were quitting."

She puts up her hands, mimes a quick, weak punch, then drops them down again. "Wow. That was…"

"…exactly what an hour of showing off will get you," he tells her. "If you're still up for a swim, I wouldn't mind cooling off a little. Then…do they do steak here?"

"They do indeed."

"Steak dinner. Baked potato. My treat. But you buy your own drinks."

"Deal. Can Callie meet us? I promised her we'd hook up."

He must look apprehensive, because her eyes get that puppy-dog look, and she smiles. "Preston. She's no Cristina. You'll like her, I promise."

A part of him wonders if he should take offense, on Cristina's behalf. But he lets it go. He thinks Cristina earned that one.

--


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

--

She's wearing a bikini that's more practical than fashionable, but in typical Addison style, it manages to be completely flattering. Not that he's ogling, of course. But she's fit and healthy and tall and the shimmery fabric matches the shade of her hair almost exactly. She crosses the length of the pool like an especially agile mermaid.

He grabs a kickboard and joins her in the deep end, gripping its edge while he pumps his legs, treading water.

"So," she says.

He nods affably and offers her a corner of the kickboard, but she is still in macho show-off mode, and stretches her arms as she kicks, keeping her head above the water.

"You owe me a box one day," she tells him.

"And you owe me a workout," he teases.

"And this is what, exactly?"

"This is a gym, Addison. You want me to really put you through your paces? Come climbing with me."

She grins and looks like she's about to make a smart remark, when suddenly, she shrieks, and the water around him erupts in a volcano of floundering splashes.

"Addison!"

He takes a hand off his kickboard and reaches for her, blindly grabbing skin, dragging it onto the board's surface. He has managed to snag a hand, and he pulls, centering her weight on the kickboard as she works through a fit of coughing.

He floats them over to the wall, braces himself against the side of the pool and keeps the kickboard steady. She's still coughing a little, but she looks more embarrassed than hurt.

"Cramped up," she manages. She's finally catching her breath. "God, that was embarrassing."

She's still hunched at a funny angle. His eyes track her appraisingly, and when she gives him a slight nod of assent, he ducks under her, draws out her knees, and braces her as she works through the kinks with a fisted palm. Finally, she settles and leans back into the water, arms around the board, breath flowing through her body in short, shallow bursts as she rides out the last of it. Lamaze breathing. Of course, she would know how to ride it out like that.

He remembers her asking about food, and he regrets pushing her. "You okay?" he asks.

She blushes, and he is sorry for a moment. But she's fine now, her kicks slowing down, her body slack and slow and peaceful. They float together, and the silence is warm and comfortable.

"Okay," she says, coming out of it at last. "Let's never talk about that again."

"Addison, I…"

"No. You didn't break me, Preston. You understand?"

"But…"

"Uh huh. So, I'm not the world's best swimmer. It doesn't mean I can't still kick your ass six ways from Sunday any time I want, we clear?"

She's so serious. It's adorable. He nods obediently. "Okay. Yes. We're clear."

"Now, you said something about buying me dinner?"

--

He comes out of the showers and finds to his amazement that she's beaten him. She's still a little damp, and her face is plain, but it's scrubbed clean and her clear skin looks pale against the drama of her fiery hair. She's sitting in a lounge chair, her feet propped up on her gym bag, talking on a cell phone.

"No, that's great. Yeah, we're right down here. Ten minutes? Yeah. Yeah. Okay."

She snaps the phone shut, tucks it back into the gym bag. "Callie's meeting us."

"Um hm."

"She'll be ten minutes. We can dump our stuff in my room, if you want to."

He follows her out to the elevators, and can't help but notice the set of tension in her jaw.

"Addison?"

"Hmm?"

"I have an early surgery tomorrow."

She frowns. "Oh."

"I was thinking that perhaps I should just pop out to the car and stash my gear now, while we wait for Callie. It's already eight o'clock, and we haven't even eaten. I might not want to make a trip upstairs to get it later."

Her relief is obvious, and he sees that he has correctly guessed the cause of the sudden tension: it's her room. She's embarrassed about living in the hotel, and she doesn't want to show him her room.

"Right," she says a little too brightly. "Good thinking. Um, I'll just run up and drop my stuff. I'll meet you at the bar, okay?"

He waits until she's on the elevator, then he walks over to the bar and flags down the barkeep.

"I'm meeting some friends," he says. "I'd like a table. Three steak dinners with the works. A bottle of white wine."

"Yes sir."

"Make it pretty. Flowers, if you have them. Candles. It's been a long day."

"Yes, sir, Absolutely, sir."

He goes to the car and leaves his gym bag there. Then he returns to the bar and waits for Addison.

She must have stopped on her way to pick up Callie herself, because they come in together, dressed alike in loose black pants made of some sort of shiny material. Callie is wearing a sweater with hers, and Addison is taking advantage of her longer, taller frame with one of those girly shirts, purple and black, all pleats and folds and shimmers. He rises to meet them just as a waiter comes and shows them to their table.

It's class, just as the lobby was class and gym was beauty. They've found him his flowers, a trio of miniature roses, one red, one white, one pink, in a flute of blown glass. The waiter pulls out the chairs for him, pours him a glass of wine to sample. Could there be a better meal than this?

Addison takes in the set-up, takes in the flowers and tenses up again, but Callie catches it at the same time he does, and gives him a poke with her elbow.

"So," she says. "Do I need to tease you about your gay-man flower tastes?"

The tension is broken. It's going to be a casual meal after all.

--

The food is exquisite, but he finds as the meal progresses that his eye keeps straying to Addison. Callie is comfortable. Addison was right about her, and she's witty and brash and hilarious. But Addison…her mood keeps shifting on him, and it's starting to make him…not uncomfortable, exactly. Preoccupied? Confused? Concerned? It's like she'll have moments of total freeness, enjoying the wine, the food, the conversation. But the moment the actions breaks for a second, her body tightens and her eyes go sad and distant. He doesn't know what to do with this.

The waiters clears their salads away, and Addison excuses herself. As soon as she's out of earshot, Callie pushes her wine aside and says "Oh, man."

He puts down his napkin and waits for her.

"Look, you're not taking this personally, right?" she asks him.

"Taking what personally?"

"This hot-and-cold thing. You see it too, right? I was thinking that you see it too…"

"I see it," he admits.

"So, we're not going to have some kind of 'you hurt my friend and I break you' conversation, cause I don't think either of us are really That Person, and it doesn't seem to be the kind of thing you have with her. But you should know that her dealings with the male of the species are kind of fucked up."

"Ah."

"And it's not necessarily her fault, and it's not necessarily your problem, but I think this whole divorce thing is just adding another layer onto a very tall cake, if you know what I mean. And I'm not saying she's some sort of damsel or victim or freak. But I don't think this whole thing is just about Derek or Mark either."

He had supposed this much on his own, and honestly, he almost prefers Cristina on this count. Yes, she can be angry and bossy and rude, but the anger, the bossiness, the rudeness, it's obvious. This? What is he going to do about it?

"Look, don't over-think it," Callie hastily clarifies. "Just be her friend, okay? She needs that, especially from a guy. She just needs to learn that she can be around men, and it can be safe and it can be comfortable and it can be happy."

That word again, safe. So, he wasn't the only one who was seeing it. He didn't know if that should be a comfort, or a worry.

"Oh, and Preston?"

He was lost in thought. He turned to her, eyes distant. "Hmm?"

"If you do hurt my friend? I'll totally kick your ass. Just saying."

--


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 

--

They are pondering desert when someone's pager goes off.

"It's mine," Addison says.

"I'll drive you back," he offers. "I'm heading that way anyway."

"I do have a car, Preston."

"You do. But you've had wine."

"So have you."

"I stopped sooner."

She and Callie trade glances. She looks like she's going to argue. But after a moment, she shakes her head, moves to her feet. She's clearly irritable. From the wine? The interruption? The attention?

They make their goodnights to Callie, and head out to the car. He opens the door for her, and she practically collapses into her seat, leaning back into the seat cushion and closing her eyes.

"I'd rather not talk if that's okay."

He sees the lines of tension in her frame, and does not make any indication of agreement.

"Addison?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?"

She opens her eyes, turns on him with a prickly glare. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"Oh, sure," he says. "That was very convincing."

She closes her eyes again, exhales slowly. "Sorry. Just…going through a thing, I guess. The divorce, the…the other stuff. And…well, nights are hard for me, okay?"

"Okay…"

"I just…I hate sleeping alone, you know?"

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. "So you find someone else to sleep with?"

She flinches, and he's about to apologize, when she answers him. "Yeah. I guess I do. It's like…you've read about Watson? Little Albert?"

This triggers faint memory bells of the famous psychology experiments he read about in medical school. "This has something to do with Pavlov and the dogs, doesn't it?"

"Yes. Pavlov trained his dogs to associate a trigger, namely, the sound of a bell, with a pleasant experience, namely, food. Eventually, the dogs would start salivating whenever they heard the bell, even if there wasn't any food."

"Okay…so who was Little Albert?"

"Watson wanted to take it one step further. He wanted to know if you could train a person to associate a trigger with a negative experience instead of a positive one. He conditioned a baby named Albert to fear various benign objects by pairing them with a loud noise."

He thinks about this for a moment. "He experimented on a real baby?"

"Yeah. And it worked, Preston. He made that baby afraid of little white rats and fluffy bunnies and even a Santa beard."

"Addison…"

"No. Don't judge me. You get burned enough by the buzzer, you come to hate the noise. But you've been conditioned to respond to it. What can you do?"

He remembers what Shepherd said: she brings it on herself. She responds to the noise. Like Pavlov's dogs, she responds to the noise, and like Little Albert, each encounter only reinforces it…

He pulls up beside the hospital entrance. "I'm not judging you," he says.

She stretches, flexes her hands, gathers her things. "Yeah. It's going to be a long night. I'll see you later?"

In spite of her obvious exhaustion, he is glad she was paged. At least tonight, she'll have something constructive to do, and she won't sleep alone. She won't sleep at all, most likely. But she won't be alone. And she won't have the time to do anything more destructive than sleeping, either.

--

He gets home, and Cristina is there. It doesn't appear she's waiting for him, exactly: she's foraging in the fridge and piling books and papers into a messenger bag.

"Cristina."

"Oh, hi! Um, I was just getting some stuff together, and…"

"You live here. You don't need to explain yourself."

"Right. Of course I don't. So, um, how have you been?"

"Good. Hit the gym, had some dinner…"

She's making small talk. Something is obviously on her mind. Much as he's been thrown by Addison's abundance of emotional energy, at least she's obvious about what's going on. But with Cristina…

"What's on your mind?" he asks her.

She smiles a little too carefully. "What?"

Perhaps it is Addison's influence, but he doesn't feel like hiding his feelings. He doesn't feel like letting Cristina hide hers. "Cristina. What's on your mind?"

"Just…we're okay, right? I mean, the last few days, you've just been…I don't know."

"I thought we already talked about this. She needed a friend. And I was…"

"I'm your friend," she tells him. "Is there something you're not getting from me? Is that what it is?"

Maybe that really is the issue. He is committed to Cristina. He has come this far. But he has to admit that Addison is bringing out a side of him that Cristina hasn't brought out. A protective side. A funny side. A gentle side. Oh sure, he likes being with Cristina, likes teaching her things. But there are things he could teach Addison too, how to pick strawberries, how to bake a pie, how to swim…there is life outside of medicine and procedures and hospitals, for him, anyway. But Cristina…

Cristina squints at him, frowns. "That's not a denial. Preston, that's not a denial."

He sighs. "What do you want me to say?"

She shakes her head. "If I have to tell you? I won't really believe you when I hear it. Look, I'm going to stay at Meredith's for a few days. If you're going to have some sort of mid-life crisis…I'm sorry. I just have this intern exam, you know? I just really need to focus on that right now."

She gives him a quick peck on the cheek, then resumes her packing. He wonders if she has just broken up with him. He wonders if he should feel sadder if she has.

--


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

--

He spots Addison in the lounge when he gets in to the hospital, and she's still wearing the clothes she had on yesterday. She looks gloomy and pale, her hair flat and dull, her eyes shadowed with dark, baggy circles.

"Addison! Did you never get home?"

"Car accident. Mother is six months along, has head injuries, internal bleeding, and if that weren't enough, pre-eclampsia."

"You brought Shepherd in on the head injuries?"

"He's with her now. Still trying to find the husband. Got the bleeding stabilized, baby seems fine, but she's been in and out of it, and her oxygen levels worry me. And I've got three post-op preemies."

"Do you need help?"

She shrugs. "Not really your area, is it? I'll get an intern, after rounds. Hoping I can grab a nap for a bit…"

He reaches into his bag, pulls out a bottle of water. "Here you go."

She smiles. "Juju."

"Juju indeed. Look, if you need…"

Her pager goes off. "On it. On all of it. Don't worry about me."

But he does worry. And he can't help but feel like she isn't really 'on it' at all. And it gets worse from there: Chief Webber stops them all on their way out of rounds to give them some updates.

"Intern exam, week and a half away," he reminds them. "I've asked Dr. Bailey to make a real effort to rotate the interns among you a little more systematically. Lately, I've been feeling like a few of you have favourites…" He holds up his hand. "Now, now. Don't argue with me on this. It is our responsibility to make sure that these kids get a solid grounding in every specialty, not just the ones to which they show an inclination. The interns will be rotated every three days. Now, I have the first assignments here. Shepherd, you'll have Karev. Burke, Grey. Sloan, O'Malley. Montgomery…where is Addison, anyway? Still in the NICU? Very well. I'll send Yang up to join her."

"What about Stevens?" he asks.

"What about her? Helping Bailey in the clinic, I think. Why, Preston?"

"Ran into Dr. Montgomery on my way to rounds, and she seemed a little swamped. She could probably use an extra pair of hands."

"Right. I'll speak to Dr. Bailey. I'm sure she can spare Stevens for awhile. Now, what was the other…oh, yes. Chief of surgery."

They all perk up at that.

"The board has concluded the interview round, as you know. Now, they'd like to see the lot of you in action. They want to give each of you a day to run things. I've drawn up a schedule, two of you a week. You'll spend one day shadowing me, and the next day, you'll be on your own. Shepherd, you're up first."

"With you today, then on my own tomorrow," Shepherd clarifies.

"That's right. Any questions? No? All right. Let's go save lives, people!"

He heads over to the board to find Meredith Grey already attentively studying the day's schedule, waiting for him.

"Dr. Grey."

"Dr. Burke. You have a surgery in one hour."

"That I do. What can you tell me about hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, Dr. Grey?"

"Right. Um, it's a disease of the myocardium where a portion of the wall is thickened, disrupting the electrical functions of the heart."

"Causes?"

"For the hypertrophic variant? Congenital. But in the absence of family history, it's often not detected until the patient exhibits symptoms."

"Such as a seemingly healthy 25-year-old investment banker collapsing at the gym, as was the case with our young friend Mr. Davis, who awaits your pre-op workup for the pacemaker we will be implanting in his heart this morning."

"Right. Dr. Burke?"

"Yes, Dr. Grey?"

"May I ask you something? Off-topic. Um, personal, actually. Just…"

"If you must."

"Look, I don't mean to…I won't ask again, I promise. If we can just get this out of the way right now…"

"Ask, Dr. Grey."

"Did you break up with Cristina last night?"

"Why no, Dr. Grey, I don't think I did."

"Just…it kind of seems like…"

"Look," he says. "This really is a conversation I should be having with Cristina, isn't it?"

"No. I mean, yes, of course, you're right. You're absolutely right."

"So, Mr. Davis…"

"Just…well, if you're not broken up…do you…do you want to be?"

He sighs. He supposes he ought to have seen this coming, and he supposes that, as Cristina's best friend, she is expected to take back an answer.

"I'm not angry," he says after a moment's thought. "There was no fight. There was no issue. There was no epiphany. There is just her life, and mine, going on together."

"Going on in the same direction?"

"You tell me. You know where her head is at right now."

She frowns, and he shakes his head at her. "It's not a trick question. I already told you, I'm not angry. I admire her drive. I admire her focus. I admire her single-minded pursuit of her goal. But you know as well as I do what that goal is. She wants to be a star, Meredith. She wants to be an excellent surgeon."

"And you?"

"I want to be an excellent man."

Meredith bites her lip, turns away from him. "You really should be talking about this with Cristina."

"As I was saying. Now…Mr. Davis…"

--

It doesn't take long for Cristina to find him. He comes out of the pacemaker surgery to find her loitering in the gallery, waiting to talk to him. She's cleared the place already.

"Good morning," he says.

"Yeah, yeah. So, what's going on, Preston? You want to be an excellent man?"

He sits, feeling more irritation than sadness. He is tired of drama too. "Look at me," he tells her. "Look me in the eye and tell me our marriage is the most important thing in the world to you."

She looks him in the eye, blinds him with a placating smile. "Oh, but it will be, sweetie pie. In a week and a half, when the intern exam is over, it totally will be."

"No, it won't. Because there is residency to think about, isn't there? And Cristina Yang won't get the highest score in the state on the intern exam and then NOT make chief resident, will she?"

"Well, obviously. But…"

"Cristina. There is more to life than surgery."

"Since when? And since when did you think so?"

"You're so angry. Listen to me. I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm trying to tell you what I need. And after I've told you, if you want to be along for that…"

"And if I don't?"

"Then you'll know you'll be happier without me. I want a life, Cristina."

"Define 'life.'"

"A house big enough to have people over. A life rich enough to know people to invite. Kids, puppies, I don't know. Balance. Love."

She considers him carefully, then pronounces her judgment. "You're going soft. Who would have ever thought…you're going soft…"

"And if I am?"

She stares at him for a moment, as if unwilling to say it, to make it over and final and done. But he presses her. "There's no shame in what you want," he says softly.

She looks at him, desperate but dry-eyed. "I'm just…I'm not ready to go soft…"

He cups her face in his hands, gently kisses her. "You could never be soft. I love you, Cristina."

"Yeah. Um, I love you too."

"Okay. So, we're done?"

She gently lifts his hand away and lowers it down to his side for him. "Yeah, Preston. We're done."

--  



	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

--

He looks for Addison when he's ready for a break. Finally, he understands her fatigue with the gossip. He's just coming out of a grueling triple bypass, which he passed in awkward professional silence with Meredith Grey, when Callie rescues him.

"Hey, Heartbreaker."

He sighs. "I suppose I'll be getting that a lot."

"Well, that depends on who you ask. The 'men are scum' contingent calling for your head are actually a not very vocal minority."

"And the more vocal majority?"

"Your friends think you were too good for her."

"And those besides yourself, Dr. Shepherd and Addison?"

"They just wonder what either of you two nutjobs ever saw in each other. And then, of course, there are the nurses, some of whom plan to snatch you up themselves, I think. Nurse Olivia seemed particularly interested in a…"

"Thank you," he interrupts. "I know all about Nurse Olivia."

"Yeah, I'll just bet you do. Hey, that was a joke, okay?"

"Right."

"Cause really, is there any other way to handle this?"

He brightens in his first smile of the day. "Why no, Dr. Torres. I suppose there is not."

"Atta Boy, Preston. You know, I had fun with you, when we had that thing, but I think I've reached my quota on friends who drown their sorrows in booze and men."

He doesn't ask her to clarify.

"So, have you given any thought?" she asks. "To, you know, plans or anything?"

He supposes he can't go back to the apartment. Not now, anyway. It occurs to him that nearly everyone he knows is presently living in a hotel already. He wonders if they can get him a group rate.

"I'm ready for a change," he admits. "Is there room?"

"At the Archfield?" She grins. "How did I know you would ask?"

--

Hours later, he is ready to call it a day. He has had enough of surgery, of snickers in the corridor, of Grey and the other interns glaring at him like he's some sort of villain. He still hasn't found Addison, but he senses that Callie has adopted him, for the night, anyway. She siddles up to him in the lounge and tells him she has just persuaded the chief to tag Cristina for a surgery.

"We've got three hours," she says.

"Three hours for what?"

"To go back to your place, get you some stuff, get you checked in. New life, Burke. You-time. You ready?"

He supposes he is. He lets Callie help herself to his food while he chooses the belongings which make him feel like a gentleman. He did not do a bad thing today. He knows he didn't. Cristina will be happier pursuing excellence. He will be happier pursuing happiness. The two simply aren't compatible, and he doesn't know how he ever thought either of them could get to where they wanted to be by stifling their nature for another person. He wanted it so much. Wanted companionship. Wanted a beautiful, intelligent woman who spoke his language. Wanted a warm body to come home to who would ask about his day, and understand it when he explained it to her. On the surface, Cristina was those things. But there was something missing, and in his yearning to belong with her, he ignored it. They would not have been happy. He did a good thing.

He packs a few of his CDs into a traveling sleeve. The music has been his one indulgence as a well-earning professional. He plans his holidays around the concert venues, and he has been fortunate to see many talented performers live. He tries to picture a woman in that life. She would love him enough to indulge him in the concert, surely, even if she was not a music lover herself. He would share his passion with her anyway, and she would find a part of it which spoke to her. But there would be more, with a woman there. He would augment the itinerary according to her likings: a more plush accommodation, perhaps, or dinners out in slightly nicer restaurants. Perhaps she would occupy herself with the local retail business and surprise him with a sexy outfit. Perhaps he would pick it himself and delight her with the gift. But it would add another layer to the music, surely. It would enrich something already beautiful with the memory of something all the more beautiful than that, and the piece, whatever it was, would forever smell like wine and food and sex. Yes, he could imagine a woman in that life.

"Burke?" Callie comes looking for him, poking her head into the bedroom. "You okay in there?"

He pops out of his reverie and feels, for the first time that day, appropriately sad. Callie immediately senses it.

"Yeah, it sucks, doesn't it? You know, I probably don't even need to tell you this, but it's for the best, you know?"

"Uh huh."

"And she'll be fine. And you'll be fine. And you'll be performing a value public service in providing the hospital with its gossip quota for the week."

And it occurs to him that perhaps there is a previous gossip victim who will be grateful for the respite in attention…

"Come on," she says. "I've got your room set up, then we're meeting Addison for Couch Time."

"Couch Time?"

"Our own gossip ritual, in which the Seattle Grace contingent of the Archfield dwellers engages in a little bit of decompressing." She gives him a saucy wink. "George is gonna flip when he sees you."

--

She's made arrangements for the room, and worked out some sort of deal on the rate for him. He is exhausted, and grateful for a friend. And he feels his mood lightening when she guides him to a certain couch in the midst of the cavernous lobby, and he sees Addison there. She looks terrible, her eyes red and solemn, her skin pale and dry. But she's there. And almost as soon as she offers him a half-hearted smile of greeting, her pager goes off, and she closes her eyes.

"You've got to be kidding me," she says.

Callie takes her by the arm. "You gonna be alright, hon?"

"Have I got any choice in the matter? Yeah, I'll be fine. I'll be fine. See you in a bit?"

He feels depressed again. The day has just sucked. There is no other word for it.

--

O'Malley turns up, with Karev in tow, and stays a token few minutes before begging off to go drinking. Callie puts up a minimal fight, then releases him.

"He's never really gotten into Couch Time," she admits. "It's more Addison and me. It's been nice for me to have a friend."

"For me too," he admits.

"Honestly, I'm a little jealous," Callie admits. "I mean, you know her better. You've been working with her for a couple months already."

"We've only had a few cases together," he says.

"Yeah, so have we. The first one? It was this woman, she fell in the shower and broke her arm. Bad break, really painful, but she turned down the meds because she was toughing it out for the baby."

"And?"

"And the baby had died already. Really sad. You should have seen Addison's face when she saw it on the ultrasound. Anyway, she freaked, like, big time, and I went and talked to her. And the rest, as they say, is Best Friend history."

He does not volunteer the events that prompted him to connect with her. Somehow, it seems gauche to kiss and tell, even if he was not the one to do the kissing. Especially if he was not the one to do it.

"It's been hard for her," Callie says. "Showing up every day, seeing Derek and Meredith together…and Sloan…and Karev…"

He blinks. "You know about that?"

"Once a nurse finds out, everyone knows it. Have you really not figured that out? Look, Addison, maybe she doesn't always handle her feelings in the most constructive way. But she's fun, too. You know, she tells great stories?"

"Oh?"

"The perks of a privileged childhood. She's traveled all over the place. She told me about this time, she was, what, nineteen or something? And some trendy band, I forget which one, was having a new year's eve concert on this little island near Ibiza, and she wanted to go, but her parents wouldn't let her. So she snuck out with her cousin, and they hot-wired daddy's plane and took twelve of their friends with them…a plane, Preston. Most kids, they hijack a car. Can you imagine? A freaking plane?"

"Did they get caught?" he asks.

"Ah, that part. That part would fall under the disadvantages of a privileged childhood. Self-absorbed mom and workaholic dad never even noticed she was gone. But the concert was apparently spectacular."

He bets it was. Music worth stealing a plane for? Oh, he just bets it was.

--


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11 

--

The hotel is luxuriant. He sleeps well, and arrives at the hospital with a surprising bounce to his step. Callie falls in beside him as he heads inside.

"You know, we should carpool or something," she says.

He is having way more fun with the friendship business than he thought he would. "Yes," he agrees. "We should."

"You feeling okay?" she asks him.

"You know, I am. Maybe it hasn't…hasn't sunk in yet?"

"No, it has," she assures him. "But a part of you has been expecting it for awhile now, am I right?"

He supposes she is right, just a little bit. A part of him can't turn off the caring he has for Cristina. He wonders if she is all right today. But a part of him, a significantly larger part, is feeling drunk on the possibilities. His life is unfettered again. He can do whatever he pleases.

"So, today," Callie says.

"What about it?"

"Chief race. It's Shepherd's day to run the board."

"Ah."

"I'd take notes if I were you. See what he messes up, then don't do it when it's your turn."

He finds, to his surprise, that he is not particularly interested in what Shepherd messes up. And he is not particularly interested in improving it either. Maybe Cristina is right. He has gone soft.

He is still lost in thought when he enters the locker room. Addison is there, toweling off damp hair, a passel of shower things spilling out of her locker. She's dressed in scrubs, and the clothes she has shed are the ones he left her in two nights ago. She has not gone home. Again. Part of him wants to check on her, but she's still in bare feet and she's looking particularly fragile. He does not want to burden her with his concern.

He greets her with a smile and a soft "Hey."

She does not return the smile. She looks at him, but her eyes are distant.

"Addison?"

She makes an indistinct noise, scrunches shut her eyes and opens them again, forcing them to focus.

"Hi," she finally answers.

He can't help himself. "Are you okay?" he asks her.

"Don't even go there."

"Just…"

"Did you…did you see the chief, on your way in?"

"No. But it's…"

"What?"

"Chief race. Derek is running the board."

She closes her eyes again. "Great. Wonderful. Come with me?"

He nods, drops his bag, follows her out. They are nearly at the lobby when a tall, fat man spots Addison and rises on his toes a good six inches to get a look at her.

"God help me," she groans. She reaches for his hand, gives it a quick squeeze. "I lost my pre-eclampsia patient. Saved the baby, but lost the mom."

"And that's daddy?" he asks her.

"That's daddy. God, he's coming over…"

She straightens herself, lines herself up beside him. Then the man is there, in her face, in both of their faces, a bouncer of a man with a florid face and bulging veins in his cheek.

"You!" he spits.

She offers him a weak smile. "Mr. Atterman."

"She killed my wife," the man tells him. "Just…killed her. You are standing next to a wife-killer, my good man."

"Mr. Atterman," Addison says. "I am very sorry for your loss."

"You're sorry? You're fucking sorry? That's great, that really helps a lot. My wife…"

"Your wife had massive bleeding, Mr. Atterman. We did everything we could. We almost lost the baby too, but we were fortunately able to…"

"Fuck that. What good's a baby gonna do me without a fucking wife?"

"I truly am sorry for your loss, Mr. Atterman."

"No," he says. He moves closer, nose practically touching her face as his voice goes up a decibel. "You're not sorry, you're useless. You are the most clumsy, inept, incompetent, useless fucking loser of a doctor I have ever seen! Women have babies all the time. All the fucking time! How do you just let one die?"

She's keeping her composure. "Mr. Atterman. Your wife had a very serious medical condition. There was massive bleeding. Her breathing was compromised by the baby's weight, and she had gestational diabetes to boot. Her blood glucose levels were so out of control that I have to wonder if she had any pre-natal care at all."

"Are you saying I didn't take care of her?" he booms. "Are you saying this is my fucking fault?"

"I am saying," she tells him. "That your wife's condition was extremely precarious. I have spent days monitoring every beat of that baby's heart and doing my best to ensure you didn't lose them both. These things happen. It is not easy for any of us. But it happens."

"Fuck that," he says. "I'm suing. I got a kid now. If I don't have a wife to pay for him, a rich doctor loser will have to do. Now, where is the kid? I'd better go have a look at him and make sure you didn't mess that up too."

"Mr. Atterman. If you would like to check in at the NICU, a nurse will be happy to direct you to…"

But the man is already striding away, and Addison deflates and practically collapses against him. He props her up, runs a finger up against her cheek and speaks to her in his most soothing bedside manner voice.

"Addison. You know that wasn't your fault."

"Wasn't it? I haven't been home…if you can call it that…in three days, Preston. I'm running on fumes."

"You're good. If she could have been saved…"

"She died though."

"It happens."

He spots Shepherd walking by, and he prods her in his direction. "Look. Take the day. You need some sleep."

She hesitates, but Shepherd is already on his way over. "Preston. Addison."

"Dr. Shepherd," he says.

"So," Shepherd continues. "Busy day. Dr. Burke, you aren't up on the board for any procedures until this afternoon."

"Something will come up. Always does."

He nods. "And Addison…three post-op preemies, and a newborn. I guess you'll be…"

"Derek," she interrupts. "Send me home."

"What?"

"Send me home. I've been paged back to the hospital two nights in a row. I had three patients crash on me, one of them almost a dozen times. I've done four major procedures in the last seven hours. I saved three patients, lost one, and then was verbally assaulted by her family. I can't face six more hours. Send me home."

He frowns. "You have patients to attend to. You have a service to run."

"Look at me. I showered here, in the last 72 hours, I haven't even managed to get home for long enough to do that. Even interns don't keep those kinds of hours."

"You can grab a nap in the on-call room, and I'll be happy to…"

"You are not hearing me," she says. "Listen. I am a danger to patients right now. I am a danger to myself. Send me the hell home, Derek."

And they all notice at once that the chief is watching them. He raises a tentative hand. "If I might make a suggestion?" he offers. "My board is clear right now. I can see her home, make sure she gets some rest. And then I'll be happy to cover her service until I'm needed elsewhere…"

Shepherd is staring at the chief, no doubt wondering just how much of Addison's rant he's overheard. "Fine," he says. "See her home. Dr. Montgomery, and her service, are in your hands today."

--

She keeps it together until he's got her in the car, then drops her head between her knees, and cries. He gives her a minute to get it out of her system, then gently touches her leg, trying to ground her again.

"Hey…"

She can barely get out a breath. "I just…hate…being yelled at…"

"Shhh. I know. It's over now. Come on, head back…"

She rights herself, with effort. "God. I'm pathetic."

"No more of that," he tells her. "There is no value judgment in what we do. Just good days and bad days."

She sniffles loudly, and wipes her face with a tissue. "Do you really believe that?"

"I'm a pragmatist, what can I say? But I am a spiritualist too, and I believe that there is value in trying. You did your best?"

"With my pre-eclampsia woman? Yeah, I did. She had no pre-natal care, Preston. She had gestational diabetes. She had…"

"You did your best?"

"Yeah. I did my best."

"Then you did your best, and there's value in that. You didn't save her, and you're allowed to be sad, and you're allowed to be tired and angry. But there's value, just the same, in what you did for her."

"You have a way with words, Preston. Has anyone ever told you that?"

He smiles. "I do my best too. Now, let's get you home, shall we?"

He gets her home, and while she gets herself into something more comfortable, he orders her some room service. She groans when she comes out of the bathroom and sees him putting the menu away.

"Are you serious?"

"You told me yourself you've had nothing but granola bars. You need to eat, Addison."

"I need to sleep."

"You do. But it won't refresh you unless you get a little fuel in you first."

"I feel like crap."

"Then you only have to eat half of it."

"Slave driver."

"Stubborn fool."

She laughs and tucks her feet under her knees, stretching her back out onto the pillows. "I think I love you right now. What did you get me?"

"Turkey club. Yogurt smoothie."

"You know that's going to cost you, like, forty bucks, right?"

"Well then it had better be a damn good sandwich."

She laughs again, and he senses her finally relaxing. He keeps her amused with light, easy banter until the sandwich arrives, then supervises while she nibbles away at her little half.

"I'm really not that hungry," she insists, biting off a microscopic corner.

"I don't want to hear it. Eat."

She picks off a tiny scrap of lettuce and chews it like poison. "There. Vitamins."

"Finish it, Addison."

"I am, I am. Geez. Bossy, aren't you."

"Not bossy. Decisive."

"Bossy."

"Assertive."

"Bossy bossy."

"Direct and straightforward."

"Bossy McBosserson."

She breaks into giggles. She really is much too tired, and he supposes he will have to content himself with the first-sized chunk of sandwich and quarter of the smoothie she's managed. He wraps up the rest of it, stows it in the bar fridge for her, then settles himself into a wing chair and waits for her to fall asleep. He dims the lights and lets her get comfortable.

"Preston?"

"Hmmm?"

"Thanks. For, you know."

"I do know. And, you're welcome."

She fidgets, and he uses his foot to tuck in the corner of the blankets for her. He listens for the slowing in her breathing, but she is restless and fretful.

"I can't sleep," she complains a few minutes later.

"But you're so tired."

"So tired I can't fall asleep." She is teary again. "I just need to sleep…"

He climbs onto the bed with her, kneads circles into her forehead. "Just relax. Close your eyes…"

"I can't sleep!"

"Shhh…."

She's panicking now, he senses it. So he says the first thing that pops into his mind. "I broke up with Cristina yesterday."

She's crying in earnest now. She holds out her arms to him, and he lets himself fall into them, spooning her over the blankets, holding her, both of them drawing on each other. She cries. And then, she sleeps.

--

At some point, he dozes off beside her, and he comes to and finds her awake again, propped up on her elbows, staring at him. He is awake at once.

"Addison."

"Preston."

"What time is it?"

"Almost noon. I'm…thanks. I'm good."

"I left you the sandwich."

She nods a little too enthusiastically, and he sees that he must at once dispel the awkwardness before it goes any further.

"Can we talk about this?"

"About what?" she says.

"You're uncomfortable. I can sense that you are."

"I'm not. Just…"

"What?" he asks her.

"Just that I…I don't want to That Woman, you know? Cause I've been her already, and it sucked, Preston. It sucked hard."

He's confused. "What woman?"

"The dirty mistress? The adulterous bitch? The filthy whore?"

"Addison!"

"I know, I know, Dr. Pragmatist-Spiritualist doesn't want me using that kind of language about myself. But you know what? I've gone through this already, and I honestly don't think I could survive going through it again, the gossip, the staring, the snickers, the…the hate…"

"Nobody hates you," he says.

"But they will. They will when they find out where you spent the day after breaking it off with Cristina…"

"We're just friends," he tells her. "You know we're just friends…"

"I know it. You know it. But them? They see what they want to see. And they'll see you, with me, and I'll be That Woman…"

"And I'll be That Man, and I'll be right there with you," he says. "Addison, really…"

She's blinking back tears again. "You don't get it. It's easy for you to talk, you don't get it, because they haven't done it to you. You don't get it."

"Listen to me," he says firmly. "Maybe you're right. I don't get it yet. But here's something you don't get. You're allowed to make mistakes, Addison. And you know what? You don't have to pay for them forever. You are allowed to move on. You are allowed to have relationships of all types with other people. You are allowed to have moments of happiness. Addison, look at me. You don't have to pay forever."

"They'll see me, with you. They'll see me, and they'll…"

"What? They'll be lesser people than you or I would be? How does that diminish you, them being less?"

She sighs, lets him put his hand on her knee again. "You really do have a way with words, Preston Burke."

"So, we're good?"

"We're good. And we get to keep being friends and hanging out and speaking in public and all that. But when they piss me off, and I get depressed? You have to buy me chocolate. And you have to eat it with me."

"Done."

"And there should probably be pie. Shouldn't there be pie?"

"Yes. Yes, there should be pie."

Her breathing is back to normal again. She props herself up on her elbows and stretches her legs. "All right. Well, speaking of pie, I am starving. Like, insanely. Must have food. Now."

"I saved you the…"

"No, not that. That's, like, a speck of dust in the vast football stadium of how hungry I am. Menu. Now. And you're treating me."

"Yes. Fine."

"I can order whatever I want," she says.

"Yes," he says. He is weak with relief that she's okay again. "Yes, anything. I'll eat with you, then I have to head back to the hospital. I have a surgery at two."

"Caesar salad. Steak and frites. Cheesecake. Now."

"Easy, there. All right. And a ham and cheese, for me. We're good?"

"We're fabulous. Screw 'em all."

He grins. "Atta girl."

--


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

--

When he leaves her, she's still picking through the detritus of the cheesecake, and she's promised him she'll nap again. A few hours of cuddling with him won't fix her. He reminds himself that she's a grown woman and most certainly can manage to look after herself for the day without him, but he feels an unaccountable anxiety at leaving her. It's silly, of course. She's a grown woman, isn't she, and she has his pager number should anything…it's silly. He tells himself that it really is.

He gets back to the hospital determined to clean house, to manage his patients, to manage hers, to show them all somehow. He isn't sure, on reflection, just what he's showing, or to whom, but his pep talk with Addison has inspired him. He strides into the lounge and marches up to Derek Shepherd.

"Dr. Shepherd."

"Preston! How's…"

"You don't get to ask me."

Shepherd backs away a little. "Whoa."

"What the hell was that this morning, Derek? I mean, did you see her? Did you actually see her in front of you and have even a second of doubt that you had to send her home immediately? Or is your grudge against her so strong that you…"

"Whoa," he says again. "Wait just a second. I don't have any sort of grudge, Preston."

"Dr. Shepherd," he says, pointedly enunciating on the title. "I'll ask you again. Did you actually see her in front of you and have even a second of doubt?"

Shepherd sighs. "I…no. No, I didn't."

"But?"

"But? Okay, it's fun to see her squirm sometimes. I was going to send her home, Dr. Burke."

He shakes his head. "I don't believe you."

"And I don't believe you! You're falling for her, aren't you? Son of a bitch. You're falling for her."

He hesitates, certain that this isn't so. "No. I…"

"Uh huh. Started out that way with Mark too, you know? Just friends, common ground, hanging out…"

"She needs a friend," he says.

"She always needs a friend. Look, she's not a bad person, she doesn't set out to…she's needy, okay? She's smart and she's beautiful and witty and adorable, and maybe some of it is daddy issues or maybe some of it is…I don't know. But she never got over this driving need she has for validation, and when the itch needs scratching…well, she'll scratch it with whoever gets there first."

"No," he says. "Listen. I will only say this once, but it needs to be said because I don't think anyone has ever said it to you. What happened with you? What happened with her? It isn't all on her, Shepherd. The blame, it isn't all on her."

"Look, Preston…"

"No, don't interrupt me. Listen. I would never presume to make excuses for someone elses mistakes. Not for her, not for you. But Derek, it isn't all on her. And from my vantage point? She's got the moral high ground, in spite of what she might have done, because she's owned up to it, and she's sorry."

"This is an inappropriate conversation," Shepherd manages through gritted teeth.

"Maybe it is. Maybe you, watching her squirm, is inappropriate too. She owned up, Shepherd. She's sorry. You only get to hold a grudge if you've done that too and it still is not enough to give you peace with her."

He walks away, satisfied with having said his piece. He has one more stop to make before he does his surgery.

--

Mr. Atterman is just where they left him, in the nursery clutching his newborn. He walks up beside the incubator and eyes the chart, giving the baby a friendly coo.

"Well, aren't you doing well," he says softly. "Look at you. Your cheeks are pink, you're off the ventilator…"

The father turns to him with shimmery, tear-stained eyes. "He's a trouper, a real trouper. Beautiful baby, ain't he? A trouper, through and through."

"That he is. He'll sleep a lot, these first few days. Especially after everything he's been through."

"Six hours surgery," Atterman says. "First day of life, and he's spent a quarter of it in surgery."

"As did the doctor you assaulted this morning," he says. "Quarter of her day in surgery. Saving him."

The tears nearly spill over, and Atterman clutches the baby's finger. "Yeah. I'm real sorry about that. She seemed like a nice lady."

"She's even nicer when she hasn't spent the last six hours trying to find a vein in a two-pound body. You owe that woman your son's life, Mr. Atterman."

"My wife…"

"Your wife would have taken that baby with her had you not had the blessed fortune to bring her to this hospital instead of another one. Do you understand what I'm telling you, Mr. Atterman? You owe her his life."

Atterman tickles the baby's chin. "Yeah. I owe her his life. I just…I was wrecked, man. My wife just died. I was wrecked."

"And that gives you an excuse?"

Atterman blinks, still wiggling the baby's finger. "Doesn't it?"

"No, Mr. Atterman, it does not. Do you know why it does not? Because of him, sir. Because that child has nobody else to teach him how to rise above that blow. Nobody else to teach him that even in moments of grief, we are still human beings, and we can be angry and we can be hurting, and we can be sad, but even then, there are lines we do not cross, because we are human beings, do you understand me?"

Atterman lets go of the baby's hand. "Yeah. Yeah, I understand you."

"Your wife, his mother…her loss must be unbearable. He'll feel it too."

"Yeah. Yeah, he will."

"And you'll be there for him. And you'll make him understand, because there will be nobody else to do it, that we are human beings."

"Yeah. Yeah, I will."

"Even in loss, there can be miracles, Mr. Atterman. Your son is here for you."

At last, the man breaks. He makes no move to comfort him. But he stays and bears witness until the tears have ceased.

--


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13 

--

He finishes his surgery, and another, a bounce from the pit that keeps him occupied well into the dinner hour. He's coming out of the OR when Callie flits down from the gallery, bouncing on her toes.

"Hey, stud."

"Callie."

"You off now?"

"I have a few patients to check on."

"And then? You off?"

"Yeah, I'm off."

"Okay, so Couch Time? One hour?"

"Where's O'Malley?"

"Intern Exam. Study session with Meredith and…and Izzie…"

He notes the scorn in her voice at mention of the Stevens girl, and makes a mental note to ask her about it later. But she hasn't noticed his pause and is barreling on, telling him she's heard from Addison, that she persuaded her to get in another hour of sleep, and she'll join them for Couch Time, but later.

"So you'll have time to tell me about the smackdown before she gets there," Callie concludes.

He frowns. "The smackdown?"

"You? Shepherd? Come on, Preston, it's all over the hospital how you put him in his place and told him he was being an ass about things! I know what I heard, but you know how things get twisted around by the little grapevine of nursely gossip, and I want to hear the real version straight from the horse's mouth. What did you say to him?"

"Callie. Patients."

"Oh. Right. So, one hour? Couch Time?"

"One hour," he agrees. He is not sure he entirely cares to participate in a rehash of the day's events. But he has to admit, he is more curious than he ever thought he would be about just what Callie's issue with Stevens is.

--

He manages, in spite of his patient checks, to beat Callie back to the hotel by a good twenty minutes. He stashes his bag upstairs, changes his clothes and enters the bar with a little too much eagerness. He has not eaten since the ham and cheese he had with Addison, and he only got through half of even that before she stole it from him. She needed it more, and he was happy to give it to her. But now, hours later, he is feeling as she did then, like he could eat the Grand Canyon and still have room for more. On days like this, during his own internship, he would sustain himself with thoughts of weekend visits home, to the restaurant his parents once owned. His uncle ran it now, but his mother still took shifts in the kitchen during holiday times, and she could always be persuaded to take to the stove for her son. He suspects that Addison would adore her spaghetti and meatballs…

He orders his drink and an appetizer tray, then makes his way over to the couch just as Callie arrives.

"You made it!" she squeals.

"Was there any doubt I would?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. I get the feeling you're still getting used to this whole Gossip Girl routine."

It's true. In this respect, Addison and Callie are more 'girl' than Cristina was. But he is starting to realize that there can be catharsis in talking, sometimes. Certainly, Addison's approach---hold everything in until you panic and do something stupid---hasn't seemed to work for her all that well. And he has to admit, he found today a little fun. Quaint as though it might be to go gallivanting about the hospital defending a woman's honour, it can't be denied that both of the men he confronted were sorely deserving of what he dished out. If there is anything more exhilarating then chivalry, lord knows it's justice…

"Oooooh! Fried stuff!" Callie claps her hands as the waiter approaches. "Are there any of those little breaded cheese ball thingies? I love those…"

The waiter smiles, sets down the tray, and leaves them.

"So?" Callie prods.

"So. You and Stevens."

"Yeah, whatever, she's a raging bitch with a jones for my man, what can you do? You and Shepherd, on the other hand…"

He dismisses her just as blithely. "He stepped out of line. I put him back on it. End of story."

"Seriously? Cause the nurses tell me…"

"Callie?"

"Hmmm?"

"You and Stevens. Seriously."

She launches into a full, throaty laugh. "Oh god, we've picked up their word. How annoying! Seriously!"

They are both laughing so hard that they don't even notice Addison has arrived until she starts stealing their food.

--

She's wearing the shimmery black again, those loose stretchy things---yoga pants, if he's guessing correctly, but they look surprisingly formal on her. Her hair is damp and loose, and she looks scrubbed and refreshed.

"Addie," Callie greets. She's still trying to get back her composure.

"Please tell me this isn't some kind of secret affair I just walked in on. Cause if it is…"

Callie bursts into hysterics again, nearly falling over, she's laughing so hard. "God, no. I mean, not that he isn't…I mean, Preston, of course you're…"

She sits, and he notices her slightly queasy glance at the food.

"You want something else?" he asks her. "Cause we could…"

"Nah. Just…still getting my system back on track, I think. Three days of damage won't be undone by a nap and a cheesecake binge."

"Oooh, cheesecake," gushes Callie. "We should get some of that?"

Addison ignores her, and looks at him. "Do I even want to ask what her problem is?"

"Too many interns."

"Ah. Stevens, again?"

"He's there now," Callie says gloomily. "Studying."

Addison grins. "Is that what they call it these days?"

"Addison!"

"Sorry, sorry. This is serious, I know, this is your big serious drama thing…"

"Yeah," Callie sighs. "And you? You've had enough drama today, haven't you?"

"No, this is your thing, and I'm here for you, Cal. Just…don't make me eat any fried things, okay? Cause I'll kind of puke on you."

"Ugh," Callie says. "You've had enough drama? I've had enough puking. It was my day to help Bailey in the clinic, and…"

"Say no more. So, Stevens. Me, here for you."

"Right. So, she's a bitch, you know?"

"Oh, of course. Totally."

"I caught George in a lie the other day…"

"Oh?"

"Yeah. He said he spent the day in the clinic, when he probably spent it doing god knows what with Izzie Stevens. It's…probably nothing, right?"

Addison sighs. "Yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She sighs again, then shakes her head. "Look, Callie. Here's the thing. When you're obsessing about something like that? There's generally a reason."

"Ohhhh."

"Hey. Callie, hon, it's…"

"No, no, you're right. I should talk to him."

"Yeah."

"Brutal honesty. It's the only way. Right, Preston?"

He looks up from his snacks. "Hmmm?"

"Look, I know this is kind of a girl thing, and you've only been half listening to this entire conversation, but as far as relationships go…brutal honesty, right?"

"Oh. Well, I don't know if I would go that far…"

"But you did," she tells him. "You did go that far. You and Cristina…"

"That was honesty," he admits. "But it wasn't brutal. It was hard, but it wasn't brutal."

"No?"

"We communicated. _I_ communicated. And maybe it was brutal in that I should have done it sooner, but this is a lesson I had to learn the hard way so I'd learn how to do it. Cause here's the thing: if you don't tell people how you're feeling? They don't actually know it sometimes…"

She turns that over in her head for a second. "Yeah. I guess they don't."

"And if he's not where you are now, you'd want to know that. But if he is on the same page…wouldn't you want to know that too?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I would."

"It could be good news," Addison says.

"Yeah. It could be. Wow. I need to go. Need to think for awhile. You guys okay?"

"Yes, Mama Bear," Addison grins.

"Hey, don't tease me when I'm all depressed. I really am a bear right now."

"Hey, Cal? Call me, okay? If you need to…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, you're here for me."

---


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14 

--

Addison slumps back in her chair, watching Callie leave. "God. I think I'm depressed now."

"What, that?" He watches her carefully. "Nah."

"Just…somebody ought to have the happy ending, you know?"

"She'll get there."

"Not tonight."

"No," he admits. "Not tonight."

She's quiet for a moment. Then, she says "Did you mean that? Really?"

"What?"

"About the talking. Cause me? I do find it a little brutal."

"Yeah?"

"You don't?"

"I find it necessary," he says. "And necessary isn't always easy."

"No. No, it's not."

"It does get easier," he tells her. "I couldn't always…it gets easier."

She does not return his easy grin.

"Go on," he prods. "Try it. Tell me something."

"My hair colour has a little help sometimes."

"Tell me something difficult," he clarifies.

"I don't want to."

"Tough luck. Go on, tell me something."

She picks up a fried cheese stick, nibbles it, puts it back on the table, fiddles with her watchband. She looks everywhere but at him.

"I had a sex bet with Mark Sloan," she finally says.

"Ah."

"And I lost it. I had a bad day, and I was doubting my abilities, professional and otherwise, and I let a smooth talker say the right things to me, and I lost it. And I was just about to tell him about it when he told me he lost it first."

"Ah," he says again.

"Thing is, I still haven't told him, you know? And…I don't know. Part of me feels guilty. I mean, he broke my heart, Preston. When it went bad with him, back in New York, he broke my heart. Like, drinking binge, puke on the floor broke my heart. And maybe I deserved it…no, stop telling me I didn't…"

"Addison…"

"Or maybe it wasn't meant to be, or maybe…god, I don't know. But we could have had another try, and he blew it, or I blew it, I don't know. But I felt lonely, and I felt confused, and I let myself do something stupid, and I just…I guess I let that happen a little too often, and it's like…"

"It's like Pavlov's dogs," he says.

"Huh?"

"That story you told me. Little Albert. Pavlov's dogs. Every gong of the cymbal or ding of the bell only reinforces the link between what you feel and what you do."

"Yeah. And do you know how it ended?"

"How?"

"Watson created the fear, all right. He conditioned him good and proper. But then Little Albert got adopted, Preston. He got adopted, and he left the teaching hospital and went off into his life, and Watson never got the chance to see if he could reverse it."

"Addison…"

"I used to wonder about it," she says. "Still do sometimes. Picturing a little boy out there, making his way with his new family, happy and growing and unaccountably afraid of small furry things…"

"But happy just the same," he prods, feeling suddenly a little desperate. "Growing just the same…"

"That would be nice, wouldn't it?" she says, a bitter edge to her tone. "Thinking that in spite of it all, maybe he did get his happy ending…"

"But?" he presses.

"But…you've got to wonder how different the ending might have been, if Watson had the chance to change him back before he became a little footnote in the history of psychotherapy. If Watson had the chance to change him back, to prove that it's even possible to…"

Bingo. He takes her hand. "Is that what has you worried?"

"Wouldn't it worry you? I have triggers. I know I do."

"We all have triggers."

"Yeah. And when mine go off? I panic, and I just…just cling, I guess, and it never ends well. There comes a point where I should learn, shouldn't I?"

"Addison." It seems so obvious to him. "The point isn't that you should learn not to act in these situations. The point is that you need to learn how to be in different situations."

She looks thoughtful at this, and he presses forward. "Look, it's not about sex. It's about science. Think back to Pavlov, and the dogs. Bell equals food, right? You ding the bell, you activate that script in their brains and their bodies respond accordingly."

"Okay…"

"Now, let's say we can arrange things so that the dog can't hear the bell anymore. Can we still initiate the response in him?"

"Not unless you condition something else to cause it, I suppose."

"So, if we don't want the dog to generate that behaviour, we have several options. We can stop ringing the bell."

"Sometimes, it's not up to us," Addison says. "The bell rings anyway."

"Okay…so, we can cover the dog's ears so he can't hear it. Or, we can cover the bell so it's too muffled to register."

"Muffle the bell," she says thoughtfully. "Interesting."

"Try it," he says. "Chief race. Sloane is up next, and he's a smug little twit. He'll push buttons."

"Yeah," she says. "He probably will."

"So when he sets off your triggers? When he dings the bell? You plug your ears, and then you find someplace else to be so that you can't hear the echoes."

She puts down her drink. "Wow. So tired."

"I bet. You'll think about it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll think."

"And Addison?"

"Hmmm?"

"We'll talk tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow. Yeah, okay."

She's getting spacey. He walks her to her room and sees that she's looked after, then tucks himself in for the night in his own room. He's also tired. Maybe he needs to do some leaning too.

--  



	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15 

--

He wakes up refreshed, well-rested and feeling like he should date again. He's not sure where exactly this impulse has come from. Certainly, it feels like it ought to be quite early for this. His relationship with Cristina is still in category of very recent, and the only examples of attempted couplehood in his life right now are Callie and Addison, neither of whom are particularly inspiring in that regard. But still…

It isn't until he gets to the hospital and spots a flash of Addison-esque red hair zipping past him on his way to rounds that he pinpoints where his sudden romantic urges are coming from. They are coming from his friends after all. The trainwreck those women have been willing to settle for has only convinced him even more that something better really is out there, for all of them. His comments to Addison last night were not empty words. She can do better. And if he accepts that, he accepts that he can do better too. And when he finds that better? He does not want to still be on the rebound. And the only way to be off the rebound is to be out there, dating again.

Thus resolved, he heads into his first surgery with a spring in his step. Karev is his intern today, and remarks on his chipper smile at once.

"Dr. Burke."

"Dr. Karev."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're getting some."

"Dr. Karev!"

"Sorry. That was inappropriate. But…dude. Seriously."

"My personal life is none of your concern, Dr. Karev."

"Sure it is. Cristina's been bunking on our couch ever since you dumped her, and…"

"I did not dump Cristina!"

"All right, ever since you ended it, or whatever you did. So, we've been losing like half of our study time to whining about men and how evil they are."

"Ah."

"Which, not that I'm denying, necessarily. But…"

"But what, Dr. Karev?"

"Well, that's my point. I've had my share. I know that look when I see it, and you, Dr. Burke, you have that look."

"I do not have any look."

"You do. And if you've moved on already? We'll be hearing about it. All of us. At length. And we'll totally flunk the exam, cause Cristina's the best study aid we've got."

He sighs. He is coming to loathe interns. Why must they always complicate what, to him, seem very simple things?

"Dr. Karev. Will you be passing along anything I tell you, then?"

"Look, honestly? I really don't care, about you, about this. This whole gossip thing? Doesn't interest me in the slightest. But if you're moving on already…"

"Yes, yes, it will affect Cristina, which will affect your exam. Very well, Dr. Karev. I will tell you this: I have not yet commenced another relationship."

"Oh. Okay."

"But I want to, and soon."

"Oh, yeah?" Karev smirks. "You dog."

"Absolutely not. I want to be in love, Karev."

"Oh. Right."

"And I can't do that until I get back in the game somehow."

"Oooooh. Right."

"So…" He swallows, recognizing that sometimes pride must take a hit in the pursuit of knowledge. "Any ideas?"

"For finding true love? Or for getting back in the game?"

"Dr. Karev…"

"All right, all right. I hear the nurses talking. And the big thing right now? It's speed-dating."

"Speed-dating?"

"Right. You sign up for this thing, and there are girls there. Guys too. But girls, lots of them. And you get three minutes with each one."

"And then?"

"Well, every three minutes, they ding the bell, and you move on to the next one. You go through them all like that, three minutes at a time, and then you write down the ones you liked. If they write you down too, the organizers hook you up with their phone numbers."

"That sounds…efficient…"

"You'd be surprised. Nurse Olivia? She's dating this pedes nurse right now that she met on her last one. She's been seeing him for a month already."

"Ah."

"They have special ones, apparently, for doctors and hospital people. Tailored to the crazy hours we work. You want me to get you the number?"

Part of him is horrified by the appalling gaucheness of this concept. But part of him admires the brisk efficiency. And it does sound like a good way to get back out there without having to commit…

He takes the number. Then he gets himself in gear for a day of heart-fixing of the more literal kind.

--

It isn't until he breaks for lunch that he remembers Sloan is starting his trial today. He scans the cafeteria looking for signs of Callie or Addison, and notices Sloan trailing after the chief, a clipboard in his hands.

"Dr. Burke."

"Dr. Sloan."

"You see Addison?"

"No."

"Ah. Um…" Sloan turns to the chief. "Can we have a minute?"

"Suit yourself," the chief says. He steps away, but his eyes still follow them.

"Wanted to thank you," Sloan says. "For the other day. Getting Addison home."

This surprises him. "Oh?"

"Don't look so surprised. Look, I don't know what she's told you about me…"

"Dr. Sloan…"

"No, I want to say this, cause I don't know what she's told you. I'm a good guy, Burke."

"Ah."

"No, really. I'm a bad boyfriend, but I'm a good guy. A good friend. A better friend than a boyfriend, maybe, and that's hurt her, and I'm sorry about that. But I care about her. I'll probably never stop caring."

"That's good to know."

He grins, impish and a little cocky again. "Yeah. It is good to know, isn't it? Cause really? Who couldn't use some more friends?"

Sloan saunters away, and he remains at his table, frozen in introspection. There are some kinds of friends he suspects Addison can do without, he supposes. But Sloan? Maybe he is a tiger, after all, but a tiger in a cage is just as pretty to look at as the wild one is. And you can enjoy him without getting scratched by his claws.

--  



	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16 

--

He is in the cafeteria enjoying a breather, when Callie comes up and sits down with him.

"Hey," she says.

He nods a greeting, then looks at her again, his head still full of his conversation with Karev.

"Hey, Callie."

"Whoa. Smooth guy. Are you hitting on me?"

"What? No! Just…"

"What, Burke? God, I'm gonna hate this, aren't I?"

"Just…I've been thinking."

"Oh god."

"And I have been speaking with Karev…"

"Double god. What? What is it?"

"You have friends, Callie."

"Um, yeah. You, and Addison. George, maybe. Although I'm not sure that counts anymore."

He files that comment away for future pursuing, then looks at her. "Well, you're a woman, then. You know this stuff better than I do."

"What stuff?"

"Well, you know. The network. The grapevine. All of that."

"You want to spread a rumour."

"Well, not a rumour, so much. More of an…an idea, really."

She grins. "Revenge on Cristina?"

"What? No! Just that I have been thinking. You know, I might not be ready to be 'out there' just yet, exactly. I mean, Cristina and me…you know. But soon, next week, maybe…"

"Next WEEK?"

"Tuesday. There's a thing, a speed-dating thing, and…"

"Preston Burke!"

"Well, why shouldn't I? You want to know what I figure? I figure that the sooner I get out there again, the sooner I can get the whole 'rebound' thing out of the way, and the sooner that happens, the sooner I will be acceptable to the right person, should she come along. And when she does come along, I would like her to know that I am a gentleman."

He folds his arms and leans back again, satisfied with his piece. Callie frowns. "That's it? That's the message? You're a gentleman?"

He nods. "A good old-fashioned gentleman. I make an excellent boyfriend, Callie. With the right person, I make an excellent boyfriend."

"And you would just like the word to be out there, to the womenfolk of the hospital, that this is so?"

"Exactly."

"And you were hoping that I, as a woman, albeit a socially stunted and not terribly plugged in one, would know how to spread the word around for you."

"You are catching on to the plan."

"So, that's it? 'I'm a gentleman?' That's the message?"

"Well, you might want to put my name in there. You know, as a small sort of phrasing adjustment. 'Preston Burke is a gentleman.' No, that sounds pushy. I don't want to be pushy, Callie. I made that mistake with Cristina, and it didn't end well. I want a quality woman who recognizes a good old-fashioned gentleman when she sees one."

"Yeah. You've made that pretty clear."

"I want a woman who will fit smoothly into a tasteful, well-appointed life. She's smart, she's elegant, she's sensual, she's driven…but she has a sensitive side, and she appreciates a romantic. A gentleman. You know?"

Callie nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."

"So, you'll take the necessary steps, then?"

"Yeah, Preston. I'll take the steps. Couch Time?"

"Absolutely. Drinks on me, if you get your job done."

"Oh, I'll do it. Don't you worry about that, Preston. The right people will know, before the day is out, that Preston Burke is a Class A gentleman."

--

His afternoon is a blur. Two bounces from the pit, and he only manages to save one of them. It has been awhile since he lost a patient on the table, and when he joins Callie and Addison on the couches, he's pensive.

"Whoa," says Addison, when she sees his face. "Looks like tonight, our guy needs to do the talking."

"I'm fine," he says.

"Oh, really? Then smile."

He is not the overly smiling type. She knows this about him.

She pokes him, then frowns. "Okay, I know you're not the smiling type, but that should have gotten something out of even you." She pokes him again, twisting her finger, tickling him a little. He sighs, and sags in his seat.

"Oh boy. All right, buddy, we tried it your way last time. We try it my way tonight."

"Hmmm?"

"Ice cream. Callie!" Callie sets a topply tray of drinks on the table and sits. "What?"

"Stand up again, Callie, I need you to get us something. Ice cream. Preston needs ice cream."

Callie hops to her feet. "Right. Cause, really, why wouldn't he?"

"I don't need ice cream, Addison."

"And I didn't need pie, but it did the job just the same. So, I tried it your way. Now, you try it my way. Ice cream."

"But…"

"Look! Vanilla. Oooh, with sprinkles!"

"That was my idea," Callie says, doling out a bowl to each of them. "The sprinkles, that was my idea."

He looks down at his bowl and sees that the sprinkles have been arrayed to form the outline of a happy face. In spite of himself, he is touched.

"Thank you. Really."

"So?" Callie prompts.

Addison gives her a nudge and she frowns, settling in to her own ice cream with a silent pout. The silence falls between them for a moment.

"I lost a patient today," he finally says. "My first in awhile."

They eat quietly, listening without comment as he shares the story of his day. It's so different than it was sharing these tales with Cristina. If she was there with him, she had her own ideas of how things were and what went wrong. And if she wasn't there, she would be far too interested in the fancy technical details to bother with his own impressions of the day. But now, with ice cream, with silence, with an audience he trusts, his friends, gentle enough to give him space to talk with them, he finds things coming out when he doesn't mean them to. He's angry, he realizes. He is angry at himself for not doing miracles today. He is angry at the patient, for showing him up with his death, and he is ashamed at the ego his anger is uncovering. The patient was a bounce from the pit, a critical case, badly injured in a terrible accident. He did not cause the accident. He did not cause the injuries. And the patient's death, in spite of his best efforts, was not his fault either, because these things just happen sometimes. It is not his fault, and it is not the patient's fault either. The man died. That is problem enough. He doesn't need Preston Burke's anger, or ego, or shame on top of it.

"These things happen," Addison says, breaking the silence at last.

He looks down at his ice cream. It's melted. The smiley face is lopsided now, the corners of its sprinkly mouth turning down a little, almost like a frown. He eats the corners off, the tiny act of defiance cheering him.

"Yeah," he says.

"Do you need a hug?" Callie asks.

"You know, I think that I do."

She climbs over the arm rest, loses her balance, practically falls into his lap. And hugs him. Addison reaches over with her spoon and plucks away the last of the frown from the sodden detritus of his ice cream bowl.

--

He sleeps like a baby, and the weekend zips by in a blur. He wakes up on Monday morning with the thought that today is going to a special day for him. His date is tomorrow. Dates, really. He doesn't quite know, but he finds himself embracing the concept all of a sudden. It doesn't seem silly now, even coming from Karev, it doesn't seem silly. It's brave. It's about him, being brave, being out there, stretching himself on the chance that something wonderful might happen. He does not often take risks, in spite of his somewhat daring specialty. It surprises him to realize that. Oh sure, he confronts risk. He assesses risk. But does he often take it? No. When the stakes get high enough, the odds are seldom in his favour.

He is finding, though, that something really has changed in him. He wants to be a better man. Why shouldn't he have some fun? Why shouldn't he inject his life with a little romance, a little daring? He looks around at his little hotel room, and for the first time, he misses his home. The hotel, freeing as it has been, is not about balance. It's not about life. He can't nest here. He can't bake pies. He does feel a pang at the thought of leaving. His routine here has grown comfortable to him: carpooling with Callie when their shifts match up, joining her for Couch Time when they don't…

Of course, he can still come back here. Even if he checks out today, it's not like he can't come back. But Callie…Addison…if only there was a way to leave this twilight zone of an experience and somehow take them with him…

There is a knock on his door. He blinks, stretches, then pulls on a robe and lets Callie in.

"Hey, stud."

"Callie."

"We driving in together?"

"We can."

"Great. You want to buy me breakfast?"

"You did not eat with…O'Malley?"

"He's at Meredith's. Intern exam is today."

He has totally forgotten. Already?

"Preston, you should know…Cristina, she's moved in to George's old room."

"Ah."

"So I was thinking…you should go back. I mean, not permanently, not if you aren't ready, but to…re-stock a little, maybe? You're gonna need some stuff for your date."

He smirks. "Am I?"

"You have a pair of Dockers? Anything not dark and doctory-looking?"

"Ummm…"

"And a little cologne wouldn't kill you. Do you do cologne?"

"You know, I can handle these things just fine."

"Okay, are you gay?"

"Callie!"

"I'm just saying. Cause if you're not, and you're planning on actually meeting women, and impressing them with your very essence of a Class A Gentleman, don't you think you should maybe check in with a woman before you go? Just, you know, run your outfit by her, at the very minimum?"

He senses that this is not quite about him anymore. "Callie," he says, nudging a room service menu into her hands. "Let's have some breakfast. Let's talk for awhile."

She sits down, flips her hair a little too casually. "Talk? About what?"

"Why don't you tell me."

She's suddenly blubbering, and he stands there, helpless, rubbing her back and making soothing noises. She is harder to comfort than Addison is. Or, he is more awkward because she is just so tough that she doesn't bring out his nurturing side in quite the same way. What should he do, what should he do…

She sniffles loudly, dabbing at her eyes. "God, that's embarrassing."

"It's okay. You're okay."

"Yeah. I think George doesn't love me."

"Oh, Callie…"

"I mean, I know the last few weeks have been…different, you know? The intern exam, that's been the big thing, and I remember doing it, and I remember everything, the pressure, and the freaking out, and the everything, but I don't know, the way George has…it doesn't feel the same, you know?"

He nods.

"And I kept expecting him to lean on me, because he knows I've been there too, but we just haven't been…and he's…"

She sniffles again, closes her eyes, tries to collect herself. "I just know," she says after a moment. "I feel it. I know."

He wishes Addison were here. What can he say to her? He takes her hand, lets it gently rest in his, gives her the silence to think and be and let her feelings sit.

"You knew it too," she says.

"Hmmm?"

"With you and Cristina. You knew it too."

"Yes," he says. "I knew it too."

"When did you know it?"

He thinks about that. "I guess I always knew. On some level, anyway. I was trying so hard. It was like…like I had to try harder, because she wasn't trying very much at all. When there were compromises to be made, I made them. I told myself that I was trying to make her happy, but really, I was…I was trying to make her fit. And that wasn't fair, to either of us. To the relationship. It wasn't fair."

She nods. "I wake up every morning wondering what I can do to make him happy. And…I don't think he wakes up every morning wondering that about me…"

He cannot counsel a friend to leave her marriage. A part of him knows that has to be her choice, and her choice alone. But nor can he stand watching something this strong, this smart and witty and fabulous think that she is not worth a love just as vibrant and alive.

"I'm here for you," he says. "Whatever you decide."

"Well, that's a cop-out."

"What?"

"I'm not your type. I love you to pieces, you know that, right? So don't take it the wrong way when I tell you I'm not your type. I am not going to date you. So, lovely as your Class A Gentleman act might be in another context, I need you to be real with me. Can you do that?"

He was unaware he had been tensing up until he feels himself relaxing. "Okay," he says. "Okay. The truth?"

"The truth."

"You shouldn't have to try so hard."

She sighs. "Yeah. Story of my life."

--  



	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17 

He gets to the hospital and goes to stash his things. Addison is sitting on the bench in the locker room, an envelope in one hand, a small card in the other, and a stunned look on her face. He does not even waste time with a good morning.

"Addison?"

She turns at his voice, and he sees that the shell-shock has a tinge of a smile underneath it. "Look at this," she tells him, voice soft with wonder. "Maybe things really are turning around…"

He squints at the badly scrawled jumble of lines. 'I'm sorry,' it reads. 'I don't say things well, so I don't really know what else to say. I'll always miss my wife, and I'll always grieve that she won't be here to raise my boy with me. But I have him at least, and I owe that to you. I'm going to raise him right and we'll be okay together. So, thanks for saving him and sorry I yelled at you. Frank Atterman."

He opens the card, and there is a picture of the sweet-faced boy, his birth commemorated with newsprint clippings beneath his squinting little face:

FRANKLIN MONTGOMERY ATTERMAN, A SON, TO FRANK AND THE LATE LYNNE ATTERMAN. 3 LBS AND GROWING. THANKS TO HIS SAVIOUR AT SEATTLE GRACE. EVEN IN LOSS, THERE CAN BE MIRACLES.

He stares at the paper again, his own words to the man, and Addison's name, staring back at him. "They named him after you."

"Yeah. All my years as an OB-GYN and that's never happened yet. Franklin Montgomery. They named him after me."

"Congratulations."

"Yeah. Kind of weird, though. I mean, this kid is going to go through life with that mouthful of a name, and he might never even know…"

"He'll know. They'll tell him, and he'll know."

"But he won't, really. Like Little Albert," she grins. "Riding off into his footnote of my life to innocently live his happy ending…"

"Turning it around. There you go."

She takes a deep breath. "I'm going to be okay. We're going to be okay."

"Yeah."

They walk out of there together, and there is yelling. Callie and George. He's red-faced and terrified. She's tearful, and he isn't sure if this is new tears or he's still seeing the ones she had earlier. Beside him, he senses Addison tensing.

"What the hell…"

"It's okay," he tells her. He tries to catch Callie's eye, and George sees it and turns to look at him, slowly.

"Is this your fault?"

"What, O'Malley?"

"This. Her. Did you…she told me she…that I…"

"Slow down, O'Malley. What's the problem here?"

"I don't know. Why don't you tell me? I came in, and Callie was…she…"

"I had to know," Callie says. She's sniffling again, and Addison descends on her, doing the girl thing. "I had to know where I stood with him. I just couldn't stand not knowing anymore! It's been…"

"Whatever," George says. "I have to write my exam in less than hour! You couldn't have waited for this?"

"But if you love her, it should be an easy answer," Addison says.

"Shut up!" He's shouting, and she flinches, the locker room zen leaking out of her. "Shut up!" he shouts again. "This is none of your business." George points at him. "And it's none of your business either! I have to…I can't do this now. Just…no. I have to write my exam in an hour. My head's all messed up now."

He stalks off, looking wobbly, and both women look at him.

"I hate interns," Callie says.

"I hate being yelled at," Addison says.

They clasp hands, the very picture of wounded sisterhood, and he sighs. Maybe getting involved with women again is just a bad idea.

--

Sloan catches him on his way into surgery.

"So, big date tomorrow," Sloan says.

"Does everyone know my business?" he marvels.

"Well, yeah. What Nurse Olivia knows, everyone knows."

"But how did she…"

"What Karev knows, Nurse Olivia knows."

Well, there was is one chink in the hospital gossip chain illuminated for him. And now, he suspects he is face to face with another one.

"Tell me something," he says. "You hear things."

"Uh huh."

"George. Callie. What are people saying?"

Sloan whistles. "Whoo. You're not gonna like this one."

"Oh?"

"It's a love triangle, see. Or, a…hmmm. How to explain it. Okay, so there's George and Callie, right? And there's you and Cristina. And there's Addison and…well, nobody's really quite sure anymore. But the word is, you dumped Cristina and now you and Callie are having a thing. Or, maybe you and Addison are having a thing. Or maybe all three of you."

"And O'Malley?"

"Having a thing with Grey. Having a thing with Stevens. Or maybe all three of them."

"Hell of a story. Hell of two stories, really."

"Uh huh. Any truth?"

"About O'Malley? I haven't the faintest idea."

"So, you and Addison? You and Callie?"

"I am a Class A Gentleman," he says. "Does that answer your question?"

He heads into his surgery, wondering of it's even worth the bother of giving Callie and Addison a heads up. He knows one can't believe everything they hear, but there is enough in what he's learned to alarm him, truth or not. Callie dislikes Izzie Stevens. Addison dislikes being That Woman. And he? He dislikes politics. He dislikes drama. And he really dislikes being in the middle of it.

--

He is in the cafeteria later, expecting Addison and Callie to join him, when suddenly, Shepherd is straddling a chair, elbows leaning on the table, watching him.

"Derek."

"Preston."

He waits, and then Derek speaks. "I was thinking. About what you said to me the last time we were talking?" He fidgets, twirls his fingers into the table. "I want to own up. I want to be be sorry."

"It isn't me you need to be telling this to," he says.

"I don't know where to start. We have history, she and I. She hurt me."

"Yeah."

"I hurt her too. And I think…I think that when all is said and done, and there's not right or wrong in that. There's just that she's sorry, and I'm sorry, and we need to move on."

"It isn't me you need to be telling this to."

"But how do I…"

"Like you did now, Derek. Just like you did now. She'll get you."

He looks suddenly hopeful. "Yeah?"

"Things are turning around," he says, as much to himself as to Derek. "They really are turning around."

"I just want to look at her and not be angry. We had good times. There are memories in that, you know? I want to keep some memories."

"Memories are good."

"Yeah. Well, okay, then." Shepherd gives him a final awkward smile, then leaves him to his thoughts. There is value in memories. But there is value in moving on too. Perhaps Shepherd is not the only one who needs to be having a conversation.

He finds Cristina in the gallery, watching Bailey and Torres work a limb reattachment.

"Cristina?"

She grants him an icy stare. "Oh. You."

"Can we talk?"

She hesitates, then grabs his arm and pulls him away.

"What?"

"I…how are you doing?"

She shrugs. "Okay. Good."

"The exam went well?"

"Marks aren't in for a week."

"But?"

"I kicked butt."

He smiles. "Of course you did." Value in memories. Her drive has always fascinated him.

"And you're…doing all right?"

"And you care because…"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because…you dumped me?"

"Did I?"

For a moment, her eyes flash venom, then she watches his face and at once, deflates. "Kind of. Maybe. We sort of dumped each other, I guess."

"I want to tell you something."

"Okay."

"I'm going speed-dating with Karev tomorrow."

"Oh."

"I want to find an elegant and refined woman who will fit into my tasteful and well-appointed life."

"Ah. That, um, sounds…"

"Dull and unappealing?"

She snorts, the tension finally broken. "Yeah. You're going to go off and bake pies and go to museums and buy things from Architectural Digest with someone. God, Preston."

"And you are going to go off and achieve the highest score in the state on the intern exam. You'll have your own interns to boss around, and you'll be chief one day."

"And you'll still be an underling because you keep taking time off for your tasteful and well-appointed vacations with your refined and elegant wife. You'll be MY underling. I will rule over you and all your dominion."

He returns her smile. "And you'll remember me fondly from the good old days and let me get away with my unreasonable quantity of personal days."

She thinks for a moment. "Yeah, I will. I'll make fun of you, though."

"I'd expect nothing less."

"And I'll mock you to the interns. Tell them how much greater you could have been if you hadn't gone soft."

"I'll start a nickname about you. The Nazi is already taken. So…the General? The…commandant?"

"They'll fear me."

"They'll be stone-cold terrified."

She sighs again, a little sadly this time. "I was so angry. When you…when we…I was so angry. You know that, right?"

"It wasn't easy for me either. I wanted it to work so badly, and it just…it wasn't fair. We clicked on one level, and another, we didn't. And…" He thinks about Derek and Addison, about things turning around, about people moving on. "And when all is said and done, and there's not right or wrong in that. There's just that you're sorry, and I'm sorry, and we need to move on."

She nods slowly.

"Look at me again, Cristina. Look at me. Are you still angry?"

"I'll have my moments, I'm sure. But right now?"

"Right now."

"I want to be happy too," she says.

"Absolutely."

"And if it's not with you, it'll be with someone. Or, it won't be, I don't know. But I get what I want, Preston Burke."

"Of that, I have no doubt."

"So…yeah. Have a nice life and all that. Good luck on your date thing. Wear something blue. It looks good on you."

She turns her eye back to the surgery, and he leaves her, satisfied with his amends. Things really are turning around.

--


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18 

--

He carpools back to the hotel with Callie. She's still weepy, but in a way that's almost endearing, really, as if she disgusts even herself with her self-pitying behaviour.

"It's okay," he tells her, watching her repeated sniffles as she tries to collect herself.

"What is?" she manages through sniffles.

He brakes for a red light. "It. Everything. It's turning around."

"If you say so. God, this sucks. I'm going back to our room, and I don't know if he'll be there. I don't even know if I want him to be."

He can't answer that for her. He takes his foot off the break, pressing on the accelerator a little more than he was before. Trying to get her home a little faster, get her safe, get her looked after…

The next thing he's aware of is the flashing lights, and the last of Callie's sniffles erupting into laughter.

He stops, pulls over, rolls down his window. A swaggering policeman is tromping self-importantly towards him. Callie is still giggling.

"Well, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," he tells her.

"Sorry. Just…come on. Could there be a more perfect way to end a day this crappy?"

"I was trying to get you home."

"Aww. That's sweet. Really." She takes in his impassive expression and sighs. "Look, I'll pay for the ticket."

"That's not…"

He breaks off, turns to the officer. "Evening."

"License and registration?"

He hands it over, aware that the officer is squinting at the car, his clothes, his companion, his…his skin…quirking an eye at the MD designation on his license…

"Lemme guess," the cop says. "She's having a baby."

"No."

"Well?"

Callie must have picked up on the air of tension this whole encounter has taken on for him. To his surprise, he is not even offended when she takes matters into her own hands and turns on the tears. Even the policeman looks stunned.

"Ma'am?"

"It's…all my fault," she sobs. "He was…trying to get me home…"

"Ma'am? Whoa, easy there, little lady, slow down, slow down…"

"And George…cheating scum…he…"

The officer squints again at his license. "George? Isn't your name…Preston?"

"George is her husband," he says. He takes in the renewed histrionics and allows "For now, anyway. There is a…well, a…"

"A woman," Callie spits. "A blonde, beautiful woman…she used to model underwear, you know? I mean, seriously. Can you even believe it?"

"Yeah?"

"Some ridiculous thing called a Bethany Whisper. I saw it in George's…in his locker, he has the…the picture…"

"Oh, yeah? You know that chick?"

Callie sniffles loudly, lower lip trembling. "Uh…huh…she's…really more George's friend…"

"Oh," the policeman says. He looks again at Callie, then nods once more. "Oh. Oh, I see…"

"They had a fight," he says, trying to regain control of the situation. "About…"

"About George, and about all the time he…he spends with her!" Callie wails. "And what he…what he does when he's…"

She shakes her head, seemingly too overcome to continue, and the policeman just stares at them.

"I was trying to get her home," he says again.

The officer nods slowly, handing back his license to him, holding it between two fingers as if it were radioactive. "Ooookay. I'm, um, gonna let this go this time. Looks like you got bigger fish to…well, as you said. You'd better get her home."

"Yes. Thank you, Officer."

Callie is still convulsing impressively, and the officer takes a step back, shaking his head. "Gee, can't she turn that off?"

He gives Callie a nudge, not entirely sure if she's faking or if the hysterics are actually happening. She nods, the sobs breaking off into piteous sniffles while the officer watches.

"Look, buddy, there's houses nearby. Kids and stuff. You want to make sure you follow those signs, you know? Those, um, speed limit signs. Cause, you know, they're there for a reason."

"Yes, Officer. Absolutely."

"And you know… can't make anyone feel better if you don't get home in one piece. You hear what I'm saying?"

He hears it. He's just hoping that what he's hearing from Callie is just an act for his benefit. If she really is this devastated, he is not entirely sure what he can do.

--

They are surprised to find that Addison has already made it back to the hotel, and is waiting for them. She's camped out in the lobby, at their usual meeting couch, and she hops to her feet when she sees them coming.

"You guys! You'll never believe the day I…god, Preston. What did you do to her?"

"What I did to him, you mean," Callie says, still sniffling a little. "Which was, get him out of a speeding ticket by staging a very impressive girl-fit."

"Go you!" marvels Addison, giving Callie a punch on the arm.

He does not mention that the only reason he was speeding was to get Callie home before she completely fell apart on him. But he suspects that Addison senses it, and that her punch on the arm was about as legitimate as Callie's claim she was acting. He knows Addison's signals by now. He senses the shift into cautious mode, and his heart breaks a little that she's so familiar with the territory…

"No, no, I'm fine," Callie is saying. "You have news, right? Some nice distracting news?"

"We need drinks for this one," Addison says.

His worry radar starts quivering again, but she orders something fruity, and he finds himself at last relaxing. This is her happy drink, and Callie, perhaps acting after all, has turned off the sniveling with decisive swiftness. They are fine, both of them. They settle on their favourite couches and Addison twirls the little umbrella in her cocktail, kicking off her shoes and folding her long legs beneath her knees.

"So, I come out of surgery today," she says. "And Derek is waiting for me. Says he wants to talk…"

Callie gives her arm a reassuring squeeze. "Aww, sweetie…"

"No, it's okay, it really is. He was all shy and stumbly, like when I first met him…" She smiles a little wistfully, and when it finally fades, there is no bitterness. "He apologized. For not sending me home that day."

Callie lets go of her arm. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. He said…in a kind of roundabout way, but still…that he was sorry about a lot of things. And then he named them all for me."

"No!"

"Yeah. He clearly had given the matter some thought…"

"What did you say?" Callie asks.

"I told him I was sorry too. And I am. Sincerely. I'm sorry that I hurt him. Sorry I made some bad choices. Sorry I etcetera etcetera you know the whole thing. And…he cuts me off and says he knows. Says he understands. I was hurting and I was lonely and I was scared and I reached, and maybe I reached the wrong way, but I did the best I knew how. And I started laughing, because really, is that not just the understatement of forever? And he takes my arm and he says 'no, seriously.' He says he knows me. Underneath the pain that it ended the way it did, he knows me, as a person, and he knows I'm not bad. If I knew better, I would have done better. And if he knew better, he would have done better too."

"Almost sounds like he's taking some blame," Callie says.

"Funny, he told me he thinks there IS no blame. We both screwed it up. And we're both sorry. So what else is there to do but say 'yeah, anyway…' and move on with our lives a little? He is not a bad person. I am not a bad person. And we're both sorry. What else is left?"

"Oh, sweetie," Callie says. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I am, Cal. We talked a little more after that. About…about the good things we remember. Because, you know, it wasn't always bad, and there's value in that too."

"Yeah."

"So I'm still a little sad, I guess, that we both were so…so lost, and so…so wrong. And he was such a part of my life, and it ended badly for him, and then it ended badly for me, and yeah, there's sadness there. But I'm okay, you know? Cause heart-break, anger, grief, I couldn't handle those. And guilt, that was the worst of all. But a little sadness? I can live with that. As long as there's moving on too, I can live with that…"

"Addison…"

"No. I'm good, Callie. I'm good. Maybe not quite ready to go to bed alone just now, but I'm good. Another drink?"

"I'm in. You'll probably want to call it a night, Preston."

He looks them over skeptically. "Oh?"

"We're gonna talk about MY problems now. You know, have a little girl-thing? So, unless you have anything to contribute to the whole 'men are evil scum' debate…"

He nods, hefts himself off of the couch with a gentlemanly bow. "Ladies."

He has things to do, he decides. Preparations to make for his own moving on. Let them worry about each other for awhile. He has his own things to do.

--

It's nearly two in the morning when the first knock on the door wakes him. It's Callie. She's pale and teary.

"O'Malley didn't come home?" he asks, his heart breaking for her a little.

"No, he did," she answers, sitting on the edge of his bed, clearly shaky. "He did. And he…he yelled. And I know what Addison means now, when she says she hates being yelled at, because it sucks."

"And?"

"And I think this is going to be another Addison and Derek, Preston. We both did wrong. And we're both sorry. And it's just…sad."

"What wrong did you do?"

"I married him."

"And what wrong did he do?"

"He let me."

He climbs back into bed, letting her stay on her little perch at his feet. "Do you want to elaborate on that?"

She sighs. "So he comes in, and he's all 'what was that about?' And I ask him if he's okay, and he says he doesn't know, that I've messed up his head, that he's tanked the intern exam….says he doesn't know what's going on with me. He doesn't know what's going on with Izzie…"

"But something IS going on with her?"

"Yeah. Something's going on."

"Callie, I'm sorry."

"Me too, Preston. Me too. And it's like a part of me is angry, like, throttle him kind of angry, but a part of me doesn't really blame him because I know that this is my fault too. I pushed him in, way over his head, and he wasn't ready for it. Wasn't ready for me. And I thought…I guess I thought love was somehow enough to make it all work out…"

"It's not another Addison and Derek," he realizes.

"No?"

"No."

He holds her gaze and watches her eyes widen as she gets it. "It's not another Addison and Derek…"

"No."

"It's another Burke and Cristina…"

"I thought love was enough too," he says. "But it isn't. Happiness, that's enough. But love?"

She nods. "So what do I do?"

"I guess you do what Addison did. You decide that you'd rather live with a little regret than a lot of heart-break. And you make the choice for yourself and not the both of you."

"I let him go?"

"If that's what it takes, yes. You let him go."

She sighs, letting herself fall back onto the pillows. "This is gonna suck…"

"Yes."

"Going back, facing him, facing…facing her…"

"You don't have to, you know."

She bolts up again. "What?"

"You don't have to go back. I heard about George. Mercy West. And you know…he's not the only one who can transfer…"

She wipes at her eyes, then breaks into a watery smile. "You genius."

"I've been talking to some people at Mercy West myself," he says. "About my own future. And…"

"Fuck Mercy West. Preston, I'm rich. I know people."

"Oh?"

"Hell yeah. You want to take a little road trip with me?"

"I have a date tomorrow."

"Silly, I didn't mean now. I'll need a week or so to set things up, but I have this friend in LA…"

There is another knock at the door, and he climbs out of bed again, shushing her. It's Addison: dry-eyed, but a little shaky too.

"I'm fine," she says.

"Uh huh."

"I haven't been drinking, and I haven't been crying, and I am 100 completely fine."

"But?"

"But I don't want to sleep alone tonight…"

He sighs, climbs back into bed, lifts away the covers and pats the bed on either side of him. Callie climbs in on his left, Addison climbs in on his right. And they sleep.

--


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

--

When his alarm goes off, he finds he is alone again. He dimly remembers a pager going off. Addison, he thinks. A quick scan of the room proves him correct: it was Callie who made it until morning. The room service tray which has been left for him has a note from her thanking him for yesterday and telling him she's gone back to her own room to shower and change.

He finds himself a little restless, and a part of him is annoyed that it's from them. He is remembering what happened the last time Addison got pulled away in the dead of night. And Callie...

He shakes off his lingering bristles of impatience. He has friends. That's worth a little drama.

--

He finds Addison in the locker room, fresh from the showers, toweling off her long, red hair.

"Tough night?"

She pulls on a scrub top. "Uh huh."

"You want to talk about it?"

"No."

She attacks her hair with renewed vigour, hiding her face in the towel.

"I hate Seattle," she finally says.

"Oh?"

"I mean, I don't, really. Or maybe I do, I don't know. I know it's not...I mean, it's in my head, you know? A part of me knows it's in my head, that I came here and I was fighting for my life, and now that life is gone and blah blah blah. But I'm still here. And Seattle is still here. And it...it sometimes feels just as sad and wet and awkward as it did when I had that life..."

He knows the feeling. God, does he know the feeling. "You're coming off a late-night call," he says. "And you didn't sleep. And you didn't eat. And you've been bent over a wet cavity and a bright light for hours on end...Addison, whatever you're feeling when you come out of that place, that isn't life. That isn't you. That's..."

"That's Seattle," she says. She stashes the towel in her locker and looks at him, firm, resigned. "Maybe I'm getting too old for this."

"No."

"Going soft," she teases. "Like you."

"Maybe," he allows. "Or...maybe you just need a holiday."

She tenses suspiciously. "What are you talking about?"

"Callie was saying, she has a friend in LA."

She laughs. "I think everyone does. You know, my best friend from med school wound up out there? Some sort of private practice..."

"Well, there you go. A friend for her, a friend for you..."

"And you?" she asks.

"What about me?"

"I get a friend. She gets a friend. And you get...?"

"Beaches. Shopping. Restaurants."

Another chuckle. "I don't know how you manage to make that sound refined and sophisticated. You know, coming from any other man..."

He waits. But she says nothing more, and he senses she's still feeling pensive. She gives him a half-hearted swat with her towel as she finishes her primping. Back to the trenches.

--

He skips lunch, though not by choice, and is ambushed during chart reviews by Callie. She's carrying a muffin on a paper plate, which she puts down in front of him and nudges toward his hand, but he suspects her motive for this little visit is not completely charitable. His date is mere hours away now, and it's an event she's found unhealthily interesting.

"So," she says. She perches her butt on the edge of his table, trying for casual.

"Um hmm," he says.

"Lot of work you got there."

"Ummm."

"You gonna be okay tonight?"

The true motive of the conversation is suddenly clear to him. He chalks up Callie's excessive interest in his date as George-related stress, and indulges her.

"Yes, actually. I brought a suit."

She shakes her head, and he frowns. "Not a suit?"

"No, genius. Not a suit. Unless you're, like, 85..."

He stares dumbly.

"Look, show it to me," she says. "Maybe we can find the study yet gentlemanly modern guy underneath the 1950's dress code."

He nudges is folder away a little, but does not close it. He nods to a dry-cleaners bag in the corner of the office.

"This is good," she says. "Grey. We could almost pretend it's khaki. You keep a stash here? Shirts, stuff like that?"

"In my locker. The usual stuff."

"Something plain," she says. "Crisp. White. The pants are high-end enough to be a focal point."

He keeps his eye on his folder. But she leaves, comes back, fiddles with him. Lets him get ready.

--

He leaves at 7, walking thirty paces next door, to a coffee shop just off the hospital's ER entrance. Karev was pulled into a surgery with Sloan twenty minutes prior. He is flying solo tonight, and he suspects that this circumstance may not be entirely accidental. He finds himself not minding. He is ready to go out again, even if it is mostly with hospital people. He sees a few nurses her recognizes, and a pediatric scrub nurse named Clarissa is manning the gong with a diligent ferocity. She's set up a row of tables, with lines of chairs flanking either side.

"Two lines," she booms, pacing the lot of them, mallet in hand. "Ladies stay put. Guys move on down each time I beat the gong. You'll have three minutes with each person. I'll give you a card. Guys write down their pics, girls write down theirs. If two of you both write down each other's name, I give you a call and hook you up. We clear?"

He is led to a chair and he sits, facing his first lady.

"I'm Alice," she says.

He nods. "Preston."

There is a moment of awkward silence.

"So," she finally says. "Do you collect dolls?"

He sighs and forces himself to pay attention. Then the gong goes mercifully goes off, and he shifts down the line.

--

He moves through the night like a robot, smiling, nodding, saying hello, the gong pressing him onward at three-minute intervals. Maybe this was a bad idea. Has he anything in common with anyone, really? Surgeons are a rare breed, and gentlemans are even rarer...and ladies, real ladies, rarer still...

This downtime is precious to him. And how has he spent it? Alice, the accountant from admin, collects dolls. Sheila, who works triage in the ER, lives with her mother, and did not sign up for the current activity voluntarily. Diane, dermatology intern, spent the whole three minutes staring at a mole on his hand---and he, for his part, spent the whole three minutes wondering why on earth someone would go through the entire production of medical school with that as a goal. And then there were the nurses, half of them in love with Shepherd, half of them burned by Sloan...he had joked to one of them (Carrie? Cathy? Claire?) that there were almost enough spurned nurses to start a club. And for this, he is missing Couch Time?

The gong sounds again, and he shuffles down the line, no longer paying attention. So it takes him a minute to realize that he's sat down opposite Addison.

She says nothing. Just stares at him, eyes wrung with amazement, and starts laughing. And he can't help himself, he joins in, and suddenly, the reason for Callie's excessive interest in the event---and unshaking faith in its success---is obvious.

Addison is still laughing, and for a moment, he worries she'll choke. But she stills after a moment, shaking her head, still trembling with the effort of controlling herself.

"Well, I know how I got here," she says after a moment. "And..." she shakes her head. "I guess I know how you got here too. Callie?"

He nods. "She helped me fix my suit."

"She helped me pick accessories."

Addison still looks like she's on the verge of overly hysterical giggles, but he finds himself, to his surprise, sobering. He is suddenly considering the proposal at hand, actually considering it. And why not? She's Addison, he reminds himself. A friend. He doesn't want to ruin that. But at the same time...she's Addison. A friend. She already knows his baggage, and she doesn't judge him for it. She already knows his weaknesses, and adores him all the same. She brings out a wonderfully gentle and tender quality in him, and he loves her for it. And if she were not ready to risk her heart again, she wouldn't be here...

He looks at her again, takes in the marks of quality in her elegant clothes, the marks of refinement on her face, the sparkle in her eyes, in her hair...

"Well, why not?" he says out loud.

She meets his gaze, eyes rabitting on him, but there is a moment where he can tell that in the silence, she's been considering it too. He takes her hand.

"Let's talk about this," he says.

The gong sounds, but he keeps his grip firm and stays put. "Addison. Let's talk."

But Clarissa is toddling over already, the still-quaking mallet hot in her hands. "I rang the gong."

His eyes never leave Addisons. "Yes. We heard that."

"I rang the gong. You need to move on down the line."

And like that, he has had enough. He is a grown man. He can do as he pleases, and he will not allow a treasured friend to slip through his fingers to someone just as unsuitable as the last men she dated, and for what? For a contrivance like this one? A trifle? a joke? What he is doing here, now, it isn't moving on. It isn't getting back out there. It is wasting his time.

"Come," he tells her. "Let's talk."

And she comes with him. And they talk.

--


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

By the time they get outside, her hands are clammy in his grip, and she's shaking---and not from laughter this time.

"Addison?"

She's tottering a little, and her breath is coming faster. "Addie, sit down, come on, sit down..."

There's a park bench. He plops her down, and she's dead weight.

"Addie?"

"Didn't...eat..." she manages.

"Uh huh."

"And...whoa. I just...I can't..."

"Deep breaths, Addie, deep breaths. There we go. Just calm down, baby, calm down and let's talk about this."

"Oh god. Oh god."

He wants to make a joke about this. Lighten the mood. He wants to not take it personally that the thought of a relationship with him has launched her into a full-on panic attack. But he is a gentleman, and like any good gentleman, he lets the lady set the pace. He sits, strokes her back, lets her ride out the breathing. When she seems calm again, he speaks.

"That wasn't from not eating."

She inhales shakily. "No. No, it wasn't."

"Do you want to tell me what it really was about?"

"Just...getting out there again, you know? Scares the crap out of me."

"Yeah."

"And moreso because I...I..."

"Hmmm?"

"I care," she finally admits. She's tearing up again. "We were sitting there, and I just looked at you, and I got it, you know? I got why Callie was...why she..."

"You can't swim," he tells her.

"Yeah."

"And you're a better clothes fiend than you are a gourmet."

"Hell, yeah."

"But other than that..."

She nods. "I know! We just...click, somehow. And that was so safe and easy when there were three of us and we were just friends, and part of me really, really wants to keep it that way..."

"And the other part of you?"

"The other part of me sees what kind of guy you are and wants a guy like that to love me. The other part of me is daring to hope that I deserve it."

"Oh, Addison..."

"I have baggage, Preston. You can't deny that I have baggage."

"We all do."

"I can be moody, and over-sensitive, and really, really insecure."

"I can be old-fashioned, and obsessive-compulsive and overly tidy."

"My family is nuts," she says. "I mean, you get that the guy issues weren't just on Derek and Mark, right?"

"My family is domineering and pig-headed and over-involved."

"I can't be hurt again. I honestly don't think I could physically live through that one more time. And I think...maybe that's why I've mad so many really bad choices, you know? Like...if it's only a fling, it doesn't matter if he stays or if he goes, but if I have real love again, and it goes wrong, it would just...god, it would destroy me. I can't do it again. I am telling you right now, I can't do it again. And you're staring at me and I know you're thinking you're a gentleman and you'd never treat a woman like that, but nobody ever plans to hurt like that, you know? Nobody ever plans..."

"But you make other plans," he tells her. "Other choices, choices that make you feel safe even when there are rough patches. For example, you choose to talk instead of run. You choose to deal. You choose to never let it go so far that it can't be brought back to right now, to this moment where it all begins, with my voice, telling you how safe you are. You get me?"

She takes a deep breath. "Okay. I needed to hear that."

"Good girl. Now, here's an idea. Why don't we sleep together?"

"What? Now? But that's..."

"A little impulsive," he admits. "But a little necessary, I think. Get over the fear before it pyschs out either one of us."

"But..."

"But what? I'll be there. When you wake up tomorrow, I'll be there. That's what you're afraid of, isn't it? That you'll wake up alone again?"

"It happens. It's happened. And I just...I'm not in this, this tonight thing, this whatever it was, for a one-night stand. Putting myself out there again like this...it's not for that."

"Then let's do it," he says. "Let's do it right now so I can prove to you that I'll still be there in the morning."

She cries the whole way home. But then he takes her to his room and she melts for him, soft and warm and sensual. She tumbles onto his sterile hotel bed and ignites, the light hazy and casual, her skin smooth and giving, that same insecurity that drives her to misery driving her to show her worth, her beauty, her love. Soon, he'll earn it. She'll love harder to please than she will to prove. But he can get her there in her time. He learned his lesson with the debacle of Cristina. No pushing this time. He'll let love happen, and he'll ride with it. This is the one.

--

He is there for her when she wakes up, and she flips on her side and stares at him, not quite believing what they've done. And when she finally is moved to speak, he isn't sure whether to cheer or cry.

"This wasn't a mistake," she says. There is wonder in her voice, but happiness too.

"No," he says. "It wasn't a mistake."

She gets teary again. "If this really works...if it works..."

"Listen to me, Addison. I am a gentleman."

She nods slowly.

"Do you trust me?"

"I want to trust. I want to believe..."

"Now, come on. Don't I deserve a real relationship?"

"Of course you do! Why would you think..." She pauses. "Oh. Is that what I was doing?"

He grins. "Uh huh."

"Wow. Um...okay. That was actually really unattractive."

"Yup."

"Now, look here, Preston Burke, I am a quality woman. I mean, yeah, I have my issues, but I'm hot, and I'm smart, and if you are any way implying that I am not woman enough to give you a real relationship, you have another thing coming, you hear me?"

"Yes ma'am. And I, my lady, am a good old-fashioned Southern boy. I hold doors. I buy flowers. I bake pie. Women love to have me as a boyfriend."

"Great. Now that we've settled that, let's fight."

"What?"

"I want to see how you do it. Come on. Tell me I am unattractive."

"You're beautiful."

"I am a whiny, insecure, unattractive..."

"Addison..."

"Well, fine, I'll do it. I hate you. You're a horrible person and a terrible lover."

"Addison!"

"And your penis is much, much smaller than..."

"All right!" he snaps. "Enough! You really are exasperating sometimes, you know that?"

"There we go. Now, I say 'that wasn't very nice. you hurt my feelings.' And you say..."

"I say that I can't believe I really need to resort to games like this just to prove whatever it is you need me to prove right now. I wasn't entirely kidding, you know. I really do find this exasperating."

"Now, in your head, multiply that by the next 25 years. Are you going to hate me?"

"I'm not quite at 25 years yet, Addison. We're only just starting."

"Well, yeah. But if it's going to end badly...I wasn't kidding either, Preston, I can't do it again. I am not fooling around here. Not when the guy is such a good one."

Such praise from her nearly undoes him. He is overcome by the urge to wrap her in his arms again. "There we go," he says. "Now, that is how you get forgiveness." He settles for a sedate smooch and a squeeze of her arm. He is not fooling around either. He is not going to lose her by pushing too fast.

--

They arrive at the hospital together, and his finger lingers on her cheek as he sends her off to the locker room. The move does not go unnoticed by Callie, who spends the day in a Sydney-level fog of perkiness at the success of her plan. Love is in the air.

--


	21. Chapter 21

EPILOGUE: SIX MONTHS LATER

They meet on the rooftop patio, as they do every night, for Couch Time. The patio is technically part of Callie's apartment---she has the penthouse---but Addison's balcony is beneath hers, and it's big enough to squeeze in a staircase. They have embraced life here, and made their own little home together.

It's different in LA, but in many ways, it's the same, and at the end of the day, there are the three of them---and then some. Callie's 'friend in LA' turned out be a colleague of Addison's friend, and while Naomi courted Addison for her clinic, Cooper hooked the rest of them up with his contacts at St. Ambrose. He thinks his positive relationship with the somewhat abrasive chief of staff has been a boon to the clinic, and while he still isn't sure it's a big enough pond for a surgeon of Addison's skill, she seems happy with the slower-paced life. And he has to admit, she was right about the space thing.

"It's healthier," she told him. "To have a part of your life that's separate. Did you know that the divorce rate is higher for couples who share a workplace?"

"But if that means you can't work where you want to..."

"Who says I don't want to work at the clinic? Maybe I was right about going soft. Maybe you were right too. There is more to life than surgeries, Preston. Even for a surgeon. There is more to being a doctor than that. It's about relationships."

That's the buzzword these days. There's Callie and Cooper---she may be the one to finally tame him, and Addison has been pulling for the odd but sweet little pair. And there is himself and Addison. She was insistent that he get his own apartment---not quite ready for that step, and he gave her credit for being in touch enough with her feelings to tell him forthrightly. But she let him buy the condo next to hers, and he's already planning in his head which walls they can knock down when things progress between them...

So they meet on the roof, for Couch Time, and sometimes, Callie brings Cooper, and sometimes, Addison brings Violet or Naomi. But tonight is special, because he's bringing someone along for the first time time.

He's cleared it with the girls already. He knows they don't like Charlotte much. But he reminds them that not long ago, they were outcasts too. They know how many ways there are to hide loneliness, and it comes out in Callie as bravado, and in Addison as tears, and in Charlotte as prickliness, but it's the same, underneath it all.

"You'll like them," he whispers to Charlotte, unlocking Addison's door and taking her through, and up to their little oasis.

"They hate me," she says.

"They don't know you."

"Screw that. If you're going to give me some pap about how underneath it all, I'm really a..."

"Charlotte?"

"What?"

"It's just drinks. You can leave any time you want to."

"And you're not trying to set me up with someone?"

"Now, come on..."

There is a crowd when they get there. Addison is introducing the rest of them to the other new arrival, Alex Karev, the only Seattle Grace refugee they've stayed in touch with. He lets go of Charlotte's hand and moves to Addison, promising himself that in such mixed company, he'll keep the kiss short.

"Is that tongue?" he hears Charlotte ask. "Are you giving her tongue, right in front of us?"

"Charlotte, this is Alex," Callie says.

"They are so lovey-dovey," Alex tells Charlotte. "Burke and Addison. Look at them. It's kind of sick."

"Yeah," Charlotte agrees. "I'm just glad she's in a private practice. Can you imagine, if they worked together? In my hospital? Every day? Like that?"

"I have lived such a nightmare," Alex says.

Charlotte leans closer. "Oh? Is that so?"

He comes out of his kiss, and sneaks Callie a high five as he goes to pour drinks. He promised Charlotte that he wouldn't try to fix her up. But he never said anything about other people trying...

THE END


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